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* ' . * 

An Illustrated Monthly 

Vol. LV 

Xon&oit : 



by GoOglc 


Original from 


■ I * 


ACE OF HEARTS, THE Motley Roberts. 143 

Illustrations by Trcyer Evan*. 

ACROSTICS 70, 136, 233, 343, 3^5- 433 


Illustrations by Lewis Baumer. 

APRIL FOOLS • Owen Oliver. 322 

Illustrations by Tretfjr^jfvans. 


Illustrations from Drawings. 

BILLS PAYABLE Gilbert Parker. 22 

Illustrations by A. Gilbert, R.O.I. 

BRITISH CAMPAIGN IN FRANCE, THE Sir A. Conan Doyle, 386, 471 

The Battle of the Sommf. 

Illustrations from Drawings and Plan. 

CHANCE, THE JUGGLER William Caine. 41 

Illustrations by Dudley Tennam. 

CHESS PROBLEM, HOW TO SOLVE A h. C . Constable. 415 

Illustration from Diagram. 


CRIME, SOME UNSOLVED MYSTERIES OF Geor»e R. Sims. 194,274,4*6 

Illustrations by Henry Evison. 


Illustrations by J. E. Sutcliffe. 

CURIOSITIES 96,184,264,344,424,500 

Illustrations from Photographs. t 

DID SHE DO RIGHT ? Austin Philip. 256 

Illustrations by Stanley Davis. 

ENGLISHMAN, THE Austin Philip*. 405 

Illustrations by Nora Schlcgcl. 


Illustrations by Balliol Salmon. 

FEET OF THE YOUNG MEN, THE " Battimeus.' 489 

Illustrations by Frank Gillett, R.I. 

FIRES .. . . Lynn D'.yh. AM 

Illustrations by Frank G'.lletL R.I. 

FLASHLIGHTS. A Story of the East Coast 1 am erne Clarke. 351 

Illustrations by Warwick Reynolds. 


The Opinions of Mtn Who Ought to Know. 
Illustrations from Drawings. 

FRAUD AS A FINE ART Melville DavUson Post. 360 

Illustration? bv W. J. Enright. 

GIRL WITH THE RUBY, THE Melville Dawson PoU. 440 

Illustrated by W. E. Webster. 


Illustration* from Drawings. 

HASH AND RAGS Noyai Brown. 494 

Illustration^ by A. B. Frost. 

hindenburg line, inthi: Qrhinsl fron* 5 " • BriitfH Anslm s° 2 

Iflu^ticH by Christopher dark. R.I. UNIVERSITYOF MICHIGAN 

INDEX. iii. 


IDEAL SALESMAN. THE Frank Willis Move. 206 

Illustrations from Photographs and Diagrams. 

JANE FINDING HERSELF Mrs. C. X. Williamson. 83 

Illustrations by Treyer Evans. 

KAISER. My Bahy Bear from the Rockies E. Ashtnead-Ba'tlett. 456 

Illustrations by J. A. Shepherd. 

MODERN ORPHEUS, A J. A. Shepherd. 173 

MOONLIGHT RAIDER, 1 HE • . . Mr>. Baillie Reynolds. 1 1 5 

Illustrations by Tom Ped<lie. 


Marguerite Clark, Theda Bara, Anita Stfwart, Mary Miles Mister, Pauline Frederick, 
Norma Tai madge. 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

MR. VAN HEEL OF VIRGINIA Siacv Aumonier. 59 

Illustrations by A. Gilbert, R.O.I. 


Bee-Lines K. Tracey Archer. 327 

Fifty-seven Chess Problems ! T. B.RojilanJ. 329,415 

How to Memorize the Calendar Henry Bremner. 331 

A Banknote for Twopence-halfpenny Major A. Slrackan-Cameron. 33? 


Illustrations by Ernest Prater. 

PERFECT KNIGHT, THE. An Unrom antic Episode Carleton Kemp Allen. 267 

Illustrations by Stanley Davi«=. 

PERPLEXITIES Henry E. Dttdeney. 81,183,255,338,404.488 

Illustrations from Diagrams. 


Illustrations by Thomas Henry. 


Illustrations from Photoprsph^. 

PORT LOOK-OUT, THE " Bartimeus." 333 

Illustrations by Frank Gillett, R.I. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 

POULBOT AND HIS WAR CHILDREN. The Most Popular Artist in France. E. S. Valentine. 375 
Illustrations from Photograph and Drawings. 

PRIME MINISTERS, THE HOUSE OF FIFTY, 10, Downing Street .. ..' Harold Spender. 14 
Illustrations from Photographs. 

PROBLEM CLUB, THE :— Barry Pain. 

II.— The Kis? Problem 76 

III.— The Free Meal .. 131 

IV.— The Win-and-Lose Problem 246 

V.— The Handkerchief Problem 339 

VI. — The Identity Problem 399 

VII. — The Shakespearean Problem .. 480 

Illustrations by Arthur Garrett. 

PUZZLE. A. Some Notable People 493 


QUEST OF GLORIA HARNEY. THE Alexander Hull. 43* 

Illustrations by \Y. M. Berber. 

RASPUTIN REVEALED Chvles Omessa. 234 

The True Story of the Monk who was Master of Ruscia. 
Illustrations from Photographs and Drawings. 

SALESMAN, THE IDEAL Frank Wilhs Moore. 205 

Illustrations from Photographs and Diagram*. 

sea devil, the •••••••• , Grit inalrom' '•' '""*" Au " in - •' 



iv. INDEX. 


SLEEP-BEAM, THE Martin Sway ne. 187 

Illustrations by A. Gilbert, R.O.I. 

SOURCE OF IRRITATION, A Stacy Aumonier. 99 

Illustrations by Frank Gilletl, R.I. 


Illustrations from Photographs and a Drawing. 

STRIKING HARD W.W.Jacobs. 427 

Illustrations by Will Owen. 

SUNBURNED LADY, THE Melville Davis son Post. 164 

Illustrations by Balliol Salmon. 


TANKS, THE . The Origin of the Name F.J. bardiner, F.RJlist.S. 182 

Illustration from a Photograph. 

TEST OF COURAGE, THE Jame, Oliver Cunvood. 226 

Illustrations by \V. R. S. Stott. 

THOMAS, BERT, THE HUMOUR OF Adrian Margaux. 297 

Illustrations from Drawing?. 

THREE OF THEM .. A. Conan Doyle. 314 

L— A Chat About Children, Snakes, and Zebus. 
XL— About Cricket. 

Illustrations from Photographs and Drawings. 

TUBE, AT THE John S. Maigerison. 446 

Illustration from a Photograph. 


Illustrations by Dudley Tennart. 

U-BOAT COMMANDER, THE DIARY OF A. Translated from the ori«ind German by Irving R. Bacon. 153 


Ed%ar Jet son. Max Pemb'rton, Morley Roberts, E. Ashmead-Bartlett. 124 
Illustrations from Drawings and an Old Print. 

WAR HAS DONE TO ME, WHAT TIIE Harry Lauder. 251 

Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustration trom an Old Print. 

WAR-TIME ECONOMIES W. lie jth Robinson. 347 

The Art of Doing Without Things. 
Illustrations from Drawings. 

WAR TROPHIES, OUR A. T. Dollin*. ^ 

Relics of Life and Death Collected for the National War Museum. 
Illustrations from Photographs. 

WILD-GOOSE CHASE, A Lynn Doyle. 416 

Illustrations by Alfred Leetc. 


Illustrations from Drawings. 

YOUTH WILL OUT /. H. W. Kni<>ht-Bruce. 279 

Illustrations by War.vick Reynolds. 

ZU FEFEHL! (*' According to Orders ! *') F. Britten Austin, an 

Illustrations bv Ernest Prater. 

Original from 


GEORfiE NRWNT.S, LIMITED', SOUTHAMPTON STRKKT, AND EXEff||| f^Tf^] "f^ fj-'f" ftfl^p'j ffftf LAWD 


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PnMUhed monthly by OEORQE NEWNES, Ltd., 8 to n, Southampton Street, Strand, London, England. 


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It is cool and fragrant and friendly, and its use is a 
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Vol. 55. 

JANUARY, 1918. 

No. 325. 



Author 0/ " (BoUlewra.k," e/c 

Illustrated ty C. M. Padiay, R.O.I. 

N the vicinity of the submarine 
harbour of Wilhelmshaven, a 
strong cordon ot Landwehr 
infantrymen, helmeted, great- 
coated, with fixed bayonets, 
kept back with much show 
of authority a meagre crowd 
of sightseers. Few men were among the little 
throng that shivered in the chilly wind of a 
February morning; those that stood there 
were workmen in dirty overalls obviously 
lingering for a moment or two on their way 
home from a night-shift at one ol the great 
machine-shops whose forest of chimneys -in 
the background overlaid' the grey sky with a 
whelm of brown fumes. But these workmen, 
roughly garbed and with the pallor of fatigue 
visible through the smeared dirt of their faces, 
offered an immediate contrast to their fellow- 
spectators, the silent, shawl-clutching women, 
the restless, sharp-featured children, even to 
the stolid, grey-clad so!diers in their serried 
rank. By comparison, they were plump, 
well-nourished. Their voices, as they shouted 
wittici$m or coarse repartee, rang strangely 
loud and sonorous over the hushed, almost 
plaintive murmur of the crowd. 

Dark-ringed eyes staring out of white faces, 
thin under the close-drawn shawls, for the 
most part in black dresses of wretched quality, 
the warped soles of their boots betraying the 
paper composition, the women conversed with 
one another in low voices. The bony hands 
of each and all grasped firmly a little packet of 
cards, clutched to the breast with the twist 
of the shawl — their passports to the neces- 
saries of life. Their demeanour was listless, 
apathetic, here and there convulsed, suddenly 
and without warning, by the querulous, ex- 
aggerated anger of thin-sheathed nerves. But 
the high-pitched cry hushed abruptly as the 
infantry officer, pacing in front of his men, 

Vol. Iv.— 1. f Copyright, 1917, by 

turned his head towards it. Dodging around 
the skirts of the women, peering under the 
elbows of the soldiers, the pinched faces of the 
children, their high cheek-bones purple with 
the cold, were vividly eloquent .of privation. 
Their eyes, prctcrnaturally large, roved rest- 
lessly alert as if questing a prey for the furtive 
hands to snatch. Thin wrists and knees 
protruded, stick-like, from their threadbare, 
outworn clothing. None played. On all was 
an uncanny expression of premature age. A 
baby hugged in a woman's shawl whimpered 

Along the roadway behind the little crowd 
a heavy military motor-lorn' lumbered noisily, 
its rubberless tyres ringing on the cubbies. 
It left behind it a suffocating stench of 
41 petrol-substitute." 

From the adjacent buildings hung many 
flags, the red, white, and black of Germany 
predominant among the colours of Austria- 
Hungary, Bulgaria, and Turkey. Stretched 
across one of the houses, in large white letters 
on a red ground, grimly significant above that 
pinched throng, were the words : " Gott 
strafe England ! " A little farther on, simi- 
larly displayed, was the antistrophe : " Unsere 
U-Boot-Helden ! Gott schiitze sie ! " * And, 
explanatory of this assemblage, a third house 
announced : " Der Rache-Tag ! i Februar, 
1917!" + 

A couple of official motor-cars swung 
through a soldier- walled opening in. the crowd 
and sped down the wide paved roadway of the 
dock. Where they stopped, a guard of honour 
presented arms with swift, precise movements 
and a military band struck up the air : " Lieb' 
Vaterland, magst ruhig sein." A group of 
naval officers saluted as some thick-coated 
dignitaries descended from the cars.. There 

w " Our submarine heroes ! 

t M The (diy uf t'enirrr.icn, 
_, . . ■-•jrnii iti ci 1 rrfri 
Britten Austin. 

God protect them ! * 
1st 'February, 1917 J " 



was much*/ stepping*, forward? heet-cKckifig 
salutes, shisdting of hands, more salutes, .and 
a backward step. The dignitaries ivere plump % 
and affable. The naval officers, tanned of 
face and alert of bearing, were naval officers 
all the world over. 

On the side of the dock w#s an alley-way of 
young fir-trees in tubs. Their branches were 
arched over a red carpet that led to the water- 
side. There, closely ranked, lay six sub- 
marines, the black-crossed white flag, eagle- 
centred, of the Imperial Navy. fluttering from 
their short masts. * The dignitaries and their 
satellites passed down the corridor of trees, 
boarded the vessels. 

The dock-gates of the submarine harbour 
were decked with evergreen also.* Half an 
hour later they opened fo allow the passage 
of six long bodies slipping through the water,- 
with high superstructures and conning-towers 
manned by sailors who waved and cheered. 
From the dock came the bra^s and drums of 
the military' band — *' Deutschland iiber alles !" 
From behind welled the fierce, speeding shouts 
of a hungry race that saw, in a vision of hatred, 
fat corn-ships wallowing through the sea 
towards a gluttonous England — saw them 
clutched one and all, from this day forth, into 
the swallowing deep. The plump dignitaries 
had made impressive little speeches, full of 
f rightfulness. " The whole world shall stand 
aghast at the exploits of our sea-devils ! " one 
of them had announced. il Generations yet 
unborn shall remember with a shudder the 
anniversary of February the First ! " The 
naval officers had listened with straight faces. 
In long file, the k< sea-devils " slid out through 
the calm waters of the harbour, their oil 
engines silently pulsing them onward to the 
mist-hung arena of their war. 

They were sped by the vindictive hatred of 
a misery that, hopeless of relief, craved 
savagely to inflict an equal suffering on a 
scathless enemy. 

Kapitan-Leutnant Karl Hoffmann, com- 
mander of the U.026, joined his second-in- 
command in the narrow canvas-screened navi- 
gating bridge on the summit of the hi&h 
conning-tower. Behind them, around the 
steersman, rose the tall tubes of the three 
periscopes. In front of them stretched the 
long, narrow, railed deck — little wider than 
a gang-plank — featureless, save for the bat- 
tened hatchway marking the lair of a 14-pr, 
gun. Running " light," the U.026 was but- 
ting into a fresh south-westerly gale with all 
the force of her 2,000 h.p. 18-knot engines. 

# Vouched for by the Frxnkfuvter Ztitvm 

ay Google 

'The high, bluff bows, that flared away to the 
junction of the superstructure and the humped, 
porpoise-back of the* hull, crashed incessantly 
into long rollers that lifted themselves wall- 
like, hung poised for an instant and then were 
divided in flying spray and a thud of green 
water resolved into foam upon the deck. The 
lift of the brown-grey carcass, as the wave 
rushed aft, left two long cascades of sea-water 
pouring from the superstructure to the hull. 
She ducked and rolled, every now and then 
sliding to take a vicious header into the green 
seas that hurried and jostled one another, 
eager for her destruction. To windward, 
ragged strips of cloud, dark under a grey sky, 
were reaching out from the coming squall. 
To the north and east the gust that had passed 
heaped itself rounded into the heaven, in- 
tensely black, the sea beneath it copperas 
streaked and crowned with vivid white. 
Within the circumscribed horizon of trailing 
cloud and tumbling, hurrying waves the 
U.026 was the only thing at variance with 
the gale. 

" Gott set dank ! This is going to last ! " 
shouted the commander as the -two officers 
suddenly turned their backs to a flying scud 
that smote hard upon their oilskins. " No 
chance of their damned aircraft to-day ! " 

Leutnant Wohlsinger grinned all over his 
wet, weather-reddened /ace. 

" We shouldn't be here long ! n He clutched 
at the rail as with a lurching sideways dip the 
U.026 threatened to bury herself completely 
under a suddenly towering wall of water. 
Recovering his breath and wiping the salt 
from his eyes, he added : " I hate these con- 
founded shallow seas.' 9 

" Yes ! " replied the commander, pulling 
the sagging canvas u dodger " higher upon 
its supporting stanchions. " If only one of 
the others can catch the Lithuania ! We 
sha'n't stop long in this trap ! " He glanced 
behind him, where, in response to a previous 
order, several men were rigging the wireless 
mast. *' We may get some news." 

Wohlsinger glanced also at the aerials now 
being hoisted. 

u Hope wc shaVt have to wait long for it ! " 
he shouted. " Bad place to advertise one's 
self ! " His eyes swept the misty horizon 
anxiously. " We're on the Holyhead route." 

His superior nodded. 

" Can't help it. It's eight bells. Commo- 
dore should be talking." He also scanned 
the waste of tumbling waters topped with 
streamers of flying spindrift as the squall 
rushed down upon them. It was empty of 
any ship but their own. 




A man's head emerged from the half-open 
cup of the conning-tower , was touched by out- 
stretched fingers in a sketch of a salute spoilt 
by a violent roll of the vessel, 

" A message, Herr Kapitan ! " 

Hoffmann waved him out of the way and 
swung himself down to the control platform 
within the conning-tower* He switched on 
the electric light, took the paper from the 
sailor, and read the message. It was prefaced 
by the code letters of the transmitting ship 
and his own. 

" V.igS reports Lithuania sighted 12,38 
p.m. 50 miles NAV, Cape Clear steaming 
24 knots course S,E. escorjf two destroyers 
beat off attack one destroyer believed dam- 
aged* V.198 out of action repairing rendez- 
vous. No communication witli V.56 or T + 2Q.* 
Feared loss. Am taking up position 7*20 W. 
51.59 N. Maintain your station. Communi- 
cate 8 a.m.f to-morrow." 

* V brfitrc a juhn urine's number indicMe*!, ihnl *he wps liu'll 
tn Voss yard, T similarly mdicqie-* \U* Tecklenhurg ypltJ. 
U stands fir ihe Urania jaid is we IE ^& t gctitrally r for " Unier- 

i German tirruv _ . 

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u What news ? " called a voice from the 
ladder at his feet. Hoffmann looked to sec 
the round pasty face of the engineer officer, 
Marine Oher-Ingenieur Wolff, staring up at 
him. The engineer officer scrambled up to 
take the message he held out. His dark, 
heady eyes scanned the paper, looked up to 

lC It falls to us then? " The curse which 
followed the question was a measure of his 
gratification at the prospect. 

" Unless the Commodore catches her/* 
replied Hoffmann, shortly. A fortnight of 
close confinement with Ober-Ingenieur Wolff 
had induced an almost physical antipathy in 
his commanding officer* He was impatient 
of even the briefest conversation with him and 
meals were a torture. At the uncalled-for 
cursej a sudden disgust rose bitter within him. 
11 We shall do our duty, cost what it will/ 1 he 
said, harshly, and bent over the chart pricking 
out the Commodore's position, pencilling a 

" It will cost our lives ! " said Wolff, not 
to be silenced, as he turned to go, 






~ • j« 

r^n^nfi fc Original from"' 



leaning over the chart. He put his finger on 
their approximate location, noted the fathom- 
iigures — here all too small — glanced at the 
depth-indicator dial. The needle turned 
steadily towards greater figures. He shouted 
another order. The movement of the needle 
was checked — recovered. It swung gently 
up and down over double figures. The com- 
mander ran his finger over the chart, stopped. 
" We'll go to bottom here for the night/' he 
announced. He gave an order to the steers- 
man, changing the course. The boat pitched 
as she swung round, seemed to float in as easily- 
disturbed an equipoise as a toy-balloon's in 
the air. In this shallow sea the gale above 
stirred the depths appreciably. The boat 
" pumped," rose and fell vertically — a sicken- 
ing sensation, with the floor dropping sheer 
away beneath the feet — and rolled violently. 
At the full ten knots an hour of her whirring 
electric-motors the U.026 ran for safety. 

The commander doffed his stiff and dripping 
o'lskins, stood erect in the close-buttoned blue 
jacket with the two gold bands and crown 
upon the cuffs. Freed from the sou'-wester 
his head was revealed as young, purposeful, 
well-balanced. The grey eyes had a humorous 

" The sea will be alive with them now," he 
said to his sub., with an upward gesture of the 
head and a grin. They stood together on the 
control-platform of the conning-tower, Wohl- 
singer likewise divested of his oilskins. " Can't 
you see 'em? — cursing us for bringing 'em 
out on a day like this ! But I think we've 
dodged 'em. They'll probably think we've 
run to earth — here ! " His left arm flung 
amicably over the shoulder of liis junior, he 
drew him to the chart, pointed a locality. 
" Thank God, they can't use their aircraft 
to-day ! " 

" You don't think they'll stop the 
Lithuania 1 " queried Wohlsinger. There 
was an untrammelled freedom in his tone 
that was eloquent of the good relations be- 
tween him and his chief. Quite obviously 
friendship born of many perils surmounted in 
common linked the two young men. 

" No. She's too far on the Southern course. 
They might diyert her to Southampton — they 
can't dock her anywhere ejse in the Channel. 
But I don't think they will. They'll have a 
swarm out to protect her to-morrow and try 
to run her through. Our best chance is that 
they think we have run farther afield/' 

He glanced up at the depth-indicator and 
again at the chart. Then he shouted an order 
to . the man at the horizontal steering-gear 
and clanged the engine-room telegraph to 

Digitized by LiOOglC 

half-speed — to " slow." Another order filled 
all the diving-tanks to their extreme capacity. 
The depth-indicator that had leaped upward 
sank slowly. There was a bump, a jar, a 
gentle grating along the bottom. Once more 
the engine-room telegraph clanged. " Stop ! " 
Rocking a little, the U.026 lay lightly upon 
the sea-bed. 

" There we are till to-morrow morning ! " 
said Hoffmann. " Come and have a hand at 
piquet. Pipe to Abendessen, boatswain ! " 

They descended into the interior of the boat. 
The arch-roofed chamber, lit by electric ligftt, 
a polished, gleaming torpedo lashed against 
each wall, bulk-headed aft for the engine- 
room, was being set out with trestle-tables. 
Blue-jumpered men, pannikin in hand, were 
settling themselves around them. A cook 
entered with a steaming dish. The com- 
mander and his junior turned in to the tiny 
officers' quarters, switched on the electric 

They opened up the little table, which, ex- 
tended, filled nearly all the available space, 
and squeezed themselves round to the 
cushioned seats which sprang from the bulk- 
heads. As calmly as though seated in the 
Officers' Club at Wilhelmshaven, instead of 
resting on the sea-bed twenty fathoms below 
the patrol-boats of their foes, with instant 
death as the penalty of discovery, they cut 
for the deal. 

" You have the devil's own luck, Hoff- 
mann ! " grumbled Wohlsinger, amicably, as. 
he totted up the figures of the second rubber 
of six hands. 

" I hope he's got enough to go round for 
all of us ! We need it all." Ober-Ingenieur 
Wolff had entered the little cabin. He also 
squeezed himself round to a seat. " Still at 
that infernal game ! " 

Neither of his comrades so much as looked 
up. Imprisonment for a long period of time 
with an alien temperament is apt to sour the 
amenities of intercourse. 

A frown lowered on the engineer's heavy, 
pasty face, scarred with an ugly reminiscence 
of his student-days. 

" We're nicely in the trap, it seems to me," 
he grumbled. " They've spotted us. If the 
weather clears, they'll have an aeroplane out 
for a certainty. We sha'h't have a dog's 
chance in these shallows. I believe the gale's 
blown itself out already." He finished with 
desperate pessimism, glaring at the card- 
players. " I wish I had never volunteered 
for this damned submarine service." 

Hoffmann raised his head. 

" So do I, Wolff/' he said, quietly. 

■_-l l '_| 1 1 l u l II" 




Wohl singer murmured something about a 
preference for Kiel and '* Nachtlebcm" 

Wolff turned on him furiously., the sabre- 
cut across -his face livid with the rush of 
passionate blood. 

" ( Do you suggest I am a coward ? " he 
shouted, his self-control, sapped by long- 
continued nervous strain, utterly gone. il You, 

of naval activity more congenial to you. We 
agree, 5 ' 

' Vm just as eager to drown these damned 
Englanders as you arc/' grumbled the engineer, 
iL Only I don't see the necessity of committing 
suicide to do it. Nobody will be more pleased 
than I if all their food-ships are sunk and all 
the Schweirihunde starve — every dog of them ! " 


shall give me satisfaction for that when we 
get back— by God you shall ! Do you In-ar 
me?" Wohlsinger was imperturbable shuf- 
fling the cards not even looking at him, 

Hoffmann interposed. 

ft That will do, Wolff," he said, looking 
straight at the twitching face, mi Remember 
you are a German officer on board a boat that 
I have the honour to command, It is un- 
necessary to take the crew into your confi- 
dence, and I forbid it. Your courage is not 
in question, The suggestion — made originally 
by y r that there are other spheres 

by Google 

" I wonder how short of food they really 
are ? " remarked Wohlsinger, feeling the 
danger of the engineer's bad temper and 
trying to induce an amicable conversation, 
l( The Hamburger Xachruhten wils positive 
before we left that they had not got a week's 
supply in the country. Did you read that 
account of the food riots in London, Hof- 
mann ? If they lose this cargo their game's 

£i It may be so," agreed Hoffmann, *' But 
one reads so many silly stories in the papers/' 

" I believe they're starving already," said 
Original from 



Wolff, fiercely, determined at all costs to 
hostility towards his superior. " I don't see 
why you shouldn't believe the papers. They 
must be starving. They don't grow anything, 
and we're sinking all their ships. Good thing 
too ! I hope every pig-dog of them, man, 
woman, and child, starves. That's the way 
to serve the enemies of Germany — Belgium, 
Serbia, Poland — and now England. Die sollen 
alle crepieren I " 

Hoffmann leaned his chin upon his-hand, 
looked thoughtful. He saw as in a vision the 
pinched throng of women and children near 
the docks at Wilhelmshaven on the morning 
that they had started. That kind of thing — 
only worse — Belgium, Serbia, Poland, Eng- 
land ! He drew a long breath. 

11 Well, one must do one's duty. War is a 
terrible thing. I like torpedoing battleships. 
I don't mind a fight. But I must confess I 
don't like sinking liners, and I don't like 
making war on women and children." 

" England started it ! " said Wolff, brutally. 

" Yes," chorused Hoffmann and Wohl- 
singer, with complete conviction. " England 
started it ! " Wohlsinger cut the cards upon 
the table. " Well, destruction to the Lithu- 
ania I Come on, Hoffmann — there's time for 
another" game." 

Presently a man entered, laid the table. 
The three officers ate. 

Not without some bickering, the weary hours 
of ihactivity passed. At last they turned in. 
The U.G26 gently cradled her crew as they 
slept pfeacefully^at the bottom of the sea. 

The next morning Hoffmann and Wohl- 
singer were sitting at their coffee. Wolff had 
already finished, had gone to his engines. 

u I sha'n't rise till the latest possible 
minute," Hoffmann was saying. " They are 
certain to have patrols out. Eight bells, the 
Commodore said. We shall have to rise then." 

" I wonder what the weather's like this 
morning ? " queried Wohlsinger. 

11 Yes." An expression of anxiety passed 
over the commander's face. " That's what 
has been haunting me. Please God, the gale 
is continuing ! What's that ? " 

Both officers jumped up in sudden alarm. 
Overhead there was a grating, scraping noise, 
resonant on the metal hull. 

" Drag-nets ! " 

Both stood stock-still, listening to the 
dread sound.. Wohlsinger's eyes held his 
commander's face. The scraping noise con- 
tinued, with heavy bangs where the net tore 
free of an obstacle on the hull. They strove 
to determine the direction of the movement 
of the net. It seemed to be passing aft. 

fe ogle 

Followed by his junior, Hoffmann dashed 
out, shouted quick orders to the fear-paralyzed 
crew, sprang up to the control platform. 
Fortunately for the U.026 the drag-net had 
come in contact with the nose and not the 
stern. As yet it was scraping only over a 
part of the foredeck. The engines of the 
submarine awoke — half-speed astern ! The 
bottom bumped and grated on the sea-floor. 
Every ear was at strain to follow the scraping 
of those deadly steel links, unseen, but vividly 
imagined, overhead. The friction was quicker ; 
they could hear the folds of the net slipping. 
Hoffmann clanged the engine-room telegraph. 
Full-speed astern ! He ordered a deflection 
of the horizontal rudders that inclined her, 
tail up, nose down, from the sea-bed. Over- 
head the steel links rattled and slipped, 
sonorously metallic on the deck. There was 
a last quick rush and then silence save for the 
whir of the electric motors. For yet an 
instant or two the backward run of the sub- 
marine continued. The bows rose to a level 
keel. Then Hoffmann switched her violently 
round to starboard, clanged the telegraph to 
full-speed ahead. As she pitched and swung 
round, leaped forward, a violent shock smote 
her, flung her over on one side, threw every 
man on board off his feet. There was a 
muffled detonation. 

" Just in time ! " cried Wohlsinger, as he 
picked himself up.. The submarine righted 
herself in heavy rolls. All knew the meaning 
of the shock and detonation. A charge of 
high explosive had been slid down one of the 
hawsers of the drag-net. 

" Quick ! " shouted Hoffmann. " The oil ! " 

Wohlsinger leaped into the interior of the 
vessel, ran to where the air-lock hatch pro- 
truded slightly downward from the steel roof. 
It was the means of escape in case of accident, 
but not of that did the lieutenant think now. 
Summoned by his orders one man unscrewed 
the fastenings of the hatch. Another opened 
a drum of oil. The hatch was opened, the drum 
thrust in, the lock fastened again. A lever 
was pulled, opening the outer lid. Haply the 
keen-eyed foe above, searching the sea for 
signs of his success, would perceive the air- 
bubbles, the oil upon the surface. In face of 
this accepted evidence of their destruction, 
he might renounce further efforts. 

Ere Wohlsinger returned to his CQmmander 
on the control-platform, he smiled grimly at 
the scared round face of the engineer thrust 
through the open door of the bulk-head. He 
reassured him with a word. 

He found Hoffmann anxiously meditative. 
The crux oQr]qfnfPt44ftVl debate was the 





condition of the weather. Was the gale con- 
tinuing? Ignorant of that, he could not be 
sure whether they had been spotted from an 

* plane as they lay on the sea- bed, and their 
destruction deliberately planned , or whether 
a sweeping drag-net had caught them in blind 
chance. If atrial observation was possible it 
would be safer to lie on the bottom, simulating 
wreck. If the gale continued he could .slip 

wy from this dangerous area, rise cautiously* 
It was seven-thirty. In any ease he was due 
to communicate with the Commodore in half 
an hour. To do this he must come to the 

The commander decided to risk the weather. 
Consulting the chart, he set a course. Blindly, 
at fifteen fathoms, the submarine ran oil 
For twenty minute- tally submerged 

progress continued in a dirt > tion that should 
take her as far as possible from sight of land 
when emergence became necessary. Then, 
in obedience to his order, the deck inrlii 
bows up. She was rising, He stationed hint- 
self at the peris® 

When he first looked lie saw only dimly 
translucent green; then quick intermit t> 
flashes of white light ; then a dark, vitreo 
highly mobile surface of water at close quar- 
ters, suddenly and completely blotted out at 
intervals. Peering down into the binoculars, 
his vision emerged into a pale blue .sky under 
which leaped, flashing and foaming, blue-green 
waves whose tops were on a plane with I is 

ht. He turned the periscope by the side 
handles, scanning the entire narrow hork 
sixty degree? at a tir^e He saw neither 



nor smoke abovfe the ' leaping wave-tops. 
Overhead ?. He could only hope "that the 
fresh wmd kept the aeroplanes in their har- 
bours. "For a few mihutes he held on cau- 
tiously just bel^w the surtace. Then the 
U.026 rose, blowing out her tanks. 

As she rocked and pitched, light upon the 
waves, her deck was busy with men rigging 
the aerials in feverish haste. Hoffmann stood 
on top of the conning-tower, anxiously search- 
ing the distances. The sea was empty, the 
sky also ; the horizon misty. To the east the 
sky was bright with the coming sun. He 
looked long and keenly at the south-west. 
There was no sign of the smoke he looked for. 

The minutes passed. He glanced at the 
aerials now humming like a harp in the wind. 
They should be talking. But no messenger 
came to him. He was already impatient 
when a man emerged from the cap of the 
conning-tower, saluted : — 

" The operator reports that no communi- 
cation can be made with the Commodore, 
"Herr K*pit£n ! " 

Wohlsingcr, curious, had followed the man. 
His eyes exchanged a significant comment 
with his superior. 

u Tell him to try again ! " ordered Hoff- 
mann,- curtly. 

The man disappeared and the two officers 
waited. But it was in vain. No contact 
could be established with their consort. In 
a voice of ice-cold decision, Hoffmann ordered 
the aerials to be taken down. 

" Only we to stop her ! " said Wohlsingcr. 
His tone, that implied the epitaph of the other 
boat, was tinged with a doubt. 

" It will be done," replied Hoffmann, with 
grim emphasis. 

Once more the diving-tanks of the U.026 
were filled. Once more her hull sank below 
the waves, only her periscopes projecting. In 
the oval conning-tower Hoffmann and Wohl- 
singer stood side by side, peering into the 
binoculars. Her engines were running slow, 
keeping only enough way on her for steerage. 
They were on or near the course of the great 
liner hurrying towards them, as yet unseen. 
At any moment she might lift above the 

Suddenly Hoffmann gave a quick turn to 
his periscope. Some distance away on the 
port bow something emerged from the mist. 
It was a small steam trawler, the red bottom 
under her bows lifting clear out of the water 
as she rose to the waves. He considered her 
anxiously. An armed mine-sweeper ? Heavily 
down at the stem with the weight of the 
dragging trawl, her appearance was peaceful 

Digitized by dOOQle 

enough. Apparently she was' alone. She' 
held on her course. Hoffmann's mouth set 
tight. It was possible she might not notice 
the periscope — or if remarked, consider them 
British. He resisted an impulse to dive. The 
periscope- swept round again. A* low cry 
came involuntarily from his lips. Away oh 
the south-west horizon was a heavy blur of 
dark smoke — the Lithuania I 

In compliance with his order, Wohlsinger 
leaped down from the control-platform, called 
for the torpedo crews. They assembled at 
their stations, bow and stern. A thrill ot 
excitement pervaded the vessel. Quick, loud 
voices — a merry laugh — came to Hoffmann's 
ears as he gazed into the periscopes, watched 
the blur of smoke, ever more distinct. If the 
liner held her course she would cross his bows. 
He began to calculate whether he should run 
forward. His vision was annihilated with a 
loud crash and a shock that numbed his arms 
from his grip on the handles. 

He sprang to the other periscope — saw a 
faint spurt from the trawler, now very close — 
and that periscope also was shattered. The 
third had been caught and bent by the same 
shot. The U.026 was blinded as a submarine. 
Hoffmann looked up — his face set, his eyes 
* ablaze. His brain worked with a timeless speed. 
He shouted order upon order. The needle 
of the depth indicator dipped. The engines 
hurried in a feverish whir! The U.026 
swung round, dived, dashed forward. The 
conning-tower was suddenly packed close 
with men who waited. 

The commander stood, grim, calculating the 
seconds. The thought to dive for escape did 
not so much as occur to him. - The great prey 
they had already risked so much to await was 
rushing ever nearer to them, coming on at the 
speed of a railway train, unconscious — he 
prayed — of the danger. He saw a swift fight 
with the trawler — haply alone — a victory 
that would give him a few minutes' respite. 
One last dive — the prey in flank — and then 
come what would ! So he saw, with narrowed 
eyes, into the future. He shouted an order. 

The blast of compressed air blew out the 
water from the ballast tanks. Like a cork 
the submarine shot straight to the surface. 
Ere the white light flooded in through the 
plate-glass windows of the conning-tower, the 
hatch was unscrewed, the close-packed men 
scrambling out above in furious haste. 

The commander glanced through the win- 
dows at his enemy. He had dived right under 
her, had come up at a c;reater distance than 
before on her port quarter. He saw the run 
ol men on her deck, thg croup round a weapon 

1 1 if d ll IS I II * * 




in the bows. She must turn to use it. His 
own men were working like maniacs at the 
fourteen-pounders fore and aft. Already 
both guns were up from the wells that had 
contained them. 

The trawler brought her weapon to bear 
first — a light quickfirer. It spat rapidly, 
viciously, and on the instant his two fourteen- 
pounders replied with sharp, splitting cracks. 
He saw the quick spurts of explosions on the 
trawler's deck, saw her funnel suddenly awry — 
heard yells of pain from his forward gun-crew, 
the hammering of projectiles pn the hull. 
Fiercely rapid the interchange of shots con- 
tinued through immeasurable seconds. He 
saw that his gunners were obeying orders — 
one gun firing at the enemy's weapon, another 
at the trawler's hull. A tangle of wrecked 
rigging fell over her side, but the gun in the 
bows still spat. 

He glanced at the approaching liner, now 
beliind him, over his left shoulder, startlingly 
close. Her colossal bulk towered high from 
the water, the four enormous red funnels 
glowed in the sun. He cursed in an agony of 
impatience. She had changed her course. 
Yet another few minutes and she would escape. 
Far distant, on the port bow of the liner, away 
from him, a smudge of smoke betrayed the 
escorting destroyer. He looked again at the 
trawler — saw the gun-crew in her bows vanish 
— saw her flank roll upward in a great cloud 
of steam. She swung back in a return roll 
that did not cease. There was a glint of red 
among a turmoil of water. Where" she had 
been was only a commotion of the waves. 

Now I He glanced once more at his 
majestic prey. She was about two miles 
distant — extreme range. Hj must dive, dash 
forward at an angle to her course. The orders 
were already on his lips, when a man leaned 
over the hatch of the conning-tower. 

" We are badly hulled, Herr Kapitan ! The 
after gun is out of action." 

Hoffmann sprang up to look over the rim. 
He saw a great gash aft. Each wave that 
splashed upon her hull there was weakened, 

While he looked he heard the bow-gun crack 
rapidly behind him. He turned his head to 
see something rushing across the water at a 
tremendous speed, hidden behind sheets of 
flying spray, coming straight towards them. 
A shower of machine-gun bullets whip-cracked 
around his head. Like some fierce spirit of 
the sea, the spray-scattering craft came on — 
zigzagging to avo'd the shells that spouted up 
all round her — bore down upon them with 
incredible velocity. He saw some of his 

gunners fall, the gun fire again and again. He 
saw the great liner gleaming in the sun — three 
thousand yards away. 

He dropped into the conning-tower, a fierce 
resolve dominant. He could not dive. Come 
what would he would torpedo ! He clanged 
the engine-room telegraph — shouted an order 
to the steersman. He must get way on the 
boat. She could only discharge her torpedoes 
directly fore or aft. She lay now broadside 
on to her target, wallowing in the waves. He 
shouted an order through the speaking-tube 
to the bow torpedo crew, gave a range. Then 
he waited for the boat to turn. She did not 
move. He saw, with fierce impatience, the 
liner change her course a point or two to port, 
away. The seconds were precious. Still the 
submarine wallowed, broadside on. 

Why had the engines stopped ? He clanged 
the telegraph again furiously and bent to peer 
through the windows at his prey. Behind 
him he was conscious of a. rush of men who 
clambered through the hatch. A hail cf 
machine-gun bullets beat on the wall. He 
turned in mad anger, seized ?^ pair of dangling 
legs — pulled them down. A white-faced, 
•panic-stricken man panted in front of him, 
stammeringly answered his passionate question. 

" Der Ober-Ingenieur ! Der Ober-In- 
genieur ! " 

The commander released him, sprang to the 
hatchway, looked out. He saw, on a deck 
littered with bodies, Ober-Ingenieur , Wolff 
standing with a white handkerchief fluttering 
from his outstretched hand. He heard an 
agonized voice shriek : " Rettung t Rcttung ! 
Kamerad 1 Kamerad I " He saw the hydro- 
plane motor-boat swing round alongside with 
a great swash of water that leaped over the 
deck of the submarine. " Katnerad I Kam- 
erad ! " shrieked the engineer. 

He glanced towards the liner. She had _ 
turned her stern towards him, was already 
out of range. 

Kapitan-Leutnant Hoffmann dropped down 
to the control-platform once more. His face 
was set in the grimness of a judge who con- 
demns. " One minute more and we should 
have got her ! " beat in his brain, remorse- 
lessly reiterated. 

He shouted into the interior of the sub- 
marine, " Abandon ship ! " He waited grim 
and silent, while the men rushed up, clambered 
into safety. Wohlsinger pressed his hand, 
speechlessly, as he passed. The last man 
gone, the commander pulled a lever. Then 
he, too, scrambled out. 

Quiet, self-controlled, he walked along the 
deck to where the motor- boat lav, her crew 



3 t 



grinning. He saluted her commander, a lad 
in oilskins. 

** I am your prisoner, sir/* he said in perfect 

The survivors of the crew were already on 
board the motor- boat, Qber-Ingenieur Wolff 
sat in the stern-sheets, his face like cheese, his 
eyes fixed on his commander. 

l * Look out ! " shouted someone in the 
mot or- boat* The U.026 was sinking fast. 
The Englishmen who had boarded her leaped 
liack to safety. There whs a gurgle of water 
over her deck, The commander sprang on 
board the hydroplane, just in time. The little 
craft sheered off, tossed in a turmoil of waves, 

Kapitan-Leutnant Hoffmann quietly took a 
revolver from his pocket, looked Ober-Ingenieur 
Wolff between the eyes, and shot him dead. 

Some two hours later Hoffmann, prim and 
dignified, sat in the rear seat of a motor-car 
that sped through the streets of Liverpool, 
On one side of him was Wohlsinger, con- 
tentedly smoking a cigar, on the other a 
British officer. Hoffmann was impelled to 

speech, feeling it incumbent upon nim to 
unbend graciously, 

" It is fortunate for you that your great ship 
escaped, sir," he said. 

11 Oh, yes/' the British boy answered, in a 
casual tone. Li The underwriters would have 
been very sick, if you had got hen You had 
a jolly sporting try, anyway/' he added, in 
really sympathetic consolation, 

Hoffmann stared, not quite understanding. 

11 But her cargo — you would be starving in 
a fortnight t would you not ? ,J 

14 Oh, rot ! " said the boy. He waved his 
hand indicating the busy life of the street, 
lt Do we look like it ? Everybody has to be 
beastly careful, of course— but starvation ! " 
He laughed, 4 < Bally rot ! " 

Hoffmann looked at the well-filled shops, the 
throngs of well-dressed women 3 the laughing 
children playing on their way from school — and 
he suddenly saw the pinched crowd shouting 
them off near the docks at Wilhelmshaven. 
He passed his hand over liis eyes, shutting out 
a sudden doubt of the indubitable. No — it 
could not be — the Ftvthcrlajid must mn ] 



Fhuto. J/i#j uii* JHij. KR.FS. 


10, Downing Street. 


A Special Article, with Photographs,, on the Most Interesting House 

in the World* 

street of power in these islands 
—is certainly not very Impos- 
ing to look upon. Any casual 
foreign visitor who finds his 
way to this famous spot must 
experience a somewhat rude 
shock. Gazing at this little group of smoke- 
stained, brown brick dwelling-houses, he must 
imagine that he has strayed from his quest 
into some backwater of London life. For the 
street looks like a piece of an older world still 
clinging to existence in the centre of the great 
modern palaces of Whitehall, 

Amid these stately st r u ct u res— bet w een 
Barry's Foreign Office and Priw Council, the 


glories of our New Babylon — this little Down- 
ing Street is squeezed and dwarfed — a dead 
little island of brick from the seventeenth 
century. A Roman emperor boasted that 
he had found Rome of brick and left it <i 
marble. Rut even he must have sometimes 
felt that there was a dignity about the + brick 
lacking to the marble— a Spartan sternness 
speaking of earlier virtues. So it is with our 
Downing Street to day r it seems to survive 
as a reminder of the vanity of human amo- 
tions, a perpetual suggestion that only in 
simple duty and plain living lies our strength* 
There are three houses left from the old 
street — No* to, No* n f and No* 12. No. 10 
is the official residence of the Prime Minister; 




No. ii houses the Chancellor of the Ex- 
chequer ; No. 12 has become the office of the 
Government Whips of the day. "The rest of 
the street was cleared away in the early 
'nineties,, when the increasing burden of our 
growing- Empire forced us, very reluctantly 
and after many delays, to build new public 
offices for our great Departments of State. 

The two principal surviving houses — Nos. 
10 and ii — have been little touched outside by 
the hand of the restorer. They remain to-day 
almost precisely what they were three hundred 
years ago — little three-storeyed dwelling- 
houses of the type that was then spreading 
with the growing prosperity of restored civil 
peace round the central core of London. You 
•*see houses of the same kind to-day in Blooms- 
bury ; you note the same type of brick in 
Buckingham Street, Strand, where Pepys 
lived ; or in St. James's Square, the home of 
many great Restoration peers. Such houses 
were the town mansions of statesmen like 
Clarendon and Clifford ; they were the ad- 
mired homes of the wigged and ribboned 
courtiers who preened themselves in the wake 
of Charles II. by the side of the lake in St. 
James's Park. For the luxury of to-day is 
the simplicity of to-morrow ; and the palace 
of yesterday is the cottage of to-day. 

No. 10, to the outside observer, might have 
been preserved in a museum. The brick front 
has been doubtless re-pointed from time to 
time, and the roof re-slated ; but the old 
time-fretted railings still top the area, and 
the old brass knocker is still on the door, 
above the plate that bears the simple legend — 
u The First Lord of the Treasury." The lamp- 
bracket in front of the door is just one of those 
enforced on all London householders in the 
days before public lighting, when it was laid " 
on every citizen to light his own doorstep. 
The house has been several times re-numbered. 
It was once No. 5. To the east of it stood 
several houses once owned by that bright and 
gifted soul, Horace Walpole. But its own 
face still looks on the world with rather less 
change than the British Constitution itself, 
which it seems in some way to typify, with 
its homely plainness of aspect and its 
nr'ured old-worldness. It has the well-worn 
fa iliarity of some old seasoned pipe. 

is the British way to hate display in our 
hi: est. It is a sign of weakness when an 
Ei lishman has to dress smartly. It is so 
wi our houses; There is a Roman majesty 
in implicity. If our foreign visitors should 
de nr, we can still to-day echo the reply of 
th British Minister during the Napoleonic 
W, • " You must measure our strength 

not by the pomp of our palaces, .but by the 
size of our subsidies/* 

■ But 'step ' within the door of No. 10 — if 
privilege or business permit you— and you 
will soon find that the plain front conceals a 
rich interior. Like the King's daughter, 
No. 10 is " all glorious within." - Not with 
gorgeous hangings of woven tapestry or 
golden brocade — not with the splendour of 
• Versailles or Hampton Court — but with the 
riches of storied association and memory. 
It can fearlessly be said that within all the 
breadth of Great Britain, or even of Europe, 
there is no house more vitally interesting 
in every turn and twist of its old passages 
or every corner of its old rooms. 

How could it be otherwise ? For here, 
since Sir Robert Walpole first took possession, 
fifty British Prime Ministers have toiled and 
spent their little day of power. Here, for 
nearly three centuries, .every great crisis in our 
island story has found its storm centre ; mighty 
secular passions have spent their force; 
great victories have been devised ; great 
defeats have been endured. Here have lived 
England's greatest. What talks must have 
passed within these walls : what eager debates 
and strivings: what agonizing doubts: what 
long suspense : what weary patience ! For 
not without much agony of travail does a 
nation come to the birth of Empire. 

The front door of No. 10 closes behind you, 
and you find yourself in a small square hall 
adorned on all its walls with the horns and 
skulls of deer and antelope, the gift .of some 
sporting Premier. Then you pass down a 
long passage, and notice in an alcove on the 
left a singularly exquisite bust of the younger 
Pitt. It is Pitt at the finest moment of his 
youthful idealism, Pitt the " Boy Minister." 
The poise of the head and the tilt of the nose 
are very youthful — they bespeak indomitable 
daring, invincible self-confidence, the courage 
of the man who never counted odds. 

At the end of the passage is another hall, 
larger and warmly furnished. On the left is a 
partition curtained off as a waiting-room for 
visitors ; on a mantelpiece within that par- 
tition is a bust of Wellington as a young man, 
also splendidly heroic and god-like, instinct 
with a kind of spotless integrity. It is 
England at her best and noblest. 

Then you pass through a smaller room — 

the " study " of many Prime Ministers— 

and find yourself in the Council Chamber 

of the War Cabinet (sec illustration on 

page 17). You stand in the central shrine 

of British power. For, with certain intervals 

of w r andering, British Cabinets have sat 
umrtRSlTT U> WIlHI'-jAN 



here ever since the mid-eighteenth century. 
Built originally as Downing's dining-room, 
it has echoed with some of the most 
critical debates of British rulers, Here^ 
for instance, Pitt's Cabinets sat all through 
the Napoleonic Wars, and reached all those 
critical decisions which decided the fate of 
Europe. What moments have passed in 
this rpomj We look back at that story 
now from the summit of its victorious close ; 
we forget that here, in this chamber, Ministers 
had too often to look straight into the Gorgon 
faces of defeat and disaster and remain 
undismayed. Such memories may sustain 
us now. 

It is a room not unworthy of its history. 
It is long and well-windowed. The eastern 
end is flanked on each side with two Corin- 
thian columns. The bookshelves lining the 
room are now entirely covered up with wat 
maps and war charts, which surround the 
War Cabinet as they sit at work, Down 
the middle of the room runs a long, broad 
table covered with the famous cloth of green 
baize and set with straight- backed chairs. 
There are enough chairs here to seat the old 
Cabinet of twenty-two, and far too many 
for the smaller Cabinet. But it must be 
remembered that the War Cabinet rarely 
sits alone, but is almost always attended 
by soldiers or Ministers who have to be 
consulted about the matter in hand. 

The Prime Minister's chair stands not at 
the head of the table, but at the centre of its 
southern side, in front of the fireplace. Above 
the mantelpiece, over his head, there hangs 
the only picture in the room — a portrait 
of the ill-starred Lord Chancellor, Francis 
Bacon, master of knowledge but slave of 
himself — rather a strange presence to preside 
over the fortunes of England. 

The Cabinet Room is Mr. Lloyd George's 
favourite working room, and here he spends 
most of his day. It is singularly convenient 
for a Prime Minister's labours. The doors 
on either side open into the rooms of ms 
secretaries, who can thus be easily summoned. 
The big table enables maps and documents 
to be laid out with ease. Here deputations 
can be received without inconvenient 
. crowding. The War Cabinet can join the 
Prime Minister at any moment; and as 
they meet always once a day 7 and often 
twice, the Prime Minister can receive them 
without constantly shifting his room. 

From the Council Chamber, on the first 
floor, you mount by a corkscrew staircase 
to the upper rooms. The walls of the stair- 
case are lined with engravings., in historical 

by Google 

order j of the Prime Ministers of England^ 
presented to Downing Street by private 
munificence. As you mount , you seem to 
be moving in the gaze of those great pre- 
sences which have peopled the house — 
Chatham, Pitt, Canning, Grey, Peel, Disraeli, 
Gladstone. For always from the crowd a 
few stand out who were at home in this 
rarefied air. They were at ease in Zion — 
these men ; and they brought more to Down- 
ing Street than they took away. For, after 
all , it is the men that make this place 
sacred. " Take thy shoes from off thy 
feet ? " — for great men have made this ground 

At the head of the stairway you pass into 
the big, lofty reception-room sometime* 
known as the " Room of Deputations " 
(see illustration on page ±o). It is shaped 
'in angular form— probably an old-fishioned 
drawing-room later thrown into one big 
chamber. Here before the war the Prime 
Minister of the day gave his annual recep- 
tions to the great world of politics and 
diplomacy. Through these rooms the crowds 
of the London elect used to drift T little 
and great, admirers and admired, greeting 
and greeted, thrlllmgly gazing at the secret 
places of power. There, in front of that 
door, I can remember seeing standing that 
great-hearted man. Sir Henry Campbcll- 
Bannerman ; at his side stood his wife, but 
on her face was the hue of death. Within 
a year she was dead ? and he was on the 
way to join her. 

A brighter memory is that of Mr, Asquith, 
moving about those rooms a little shyly, 
as if he were a guest in his own house, always 
radiantly cheerful even at the most critical 
times, How else could such burdens be 
borne ? 

The colour-scheme of the Reception- Room 
is now white, and against this background 
the old pictures stand out, Two portraits 
surpass all the others. There, above the 
mantelpiece near to the window, is a Dutch 
portrait of Sir Robert Walpole, the first 
Ministerial tenant. Among the frilled and 
bedizened Restoration Ministers iie stands 
out with a singular strength — a rough, coarse 
squire of the old school 3 but still strong and 
independent, with an honesty of his own — 
a portly presence in his gold-braided Chan- 
cellor's robes , flowing round the protuberant 
flowered waistcoat with the deep fob pockets 
— resting that delicately-moulded hand, of 
which he was so proud, on the Royal seal of 
England's Treasury, Here is an Englishman 
of the John Bull type — healthy, large- 
Original from 




I>eartedj fon^i of t>eef and beer, but not apt 
to crook the knees or bow the head. 

Turn from this picture^ and you find your- 
self faced with Milluis' ll counterfeit present- 
ment n of the fighting Gladstone, which he 

robes of a Doctor of Law, He fixes on you 
that eagle gaze with which he so often carried 
his cause to victory, There is in his eyes that 
sleepless vigilance for all good causes which 
was the kevnote of his life, it is the 



must have fashioned as a foil to that gentle, 
gracious image of the man in his softer moods 
which we generally associate with Millais' 
genius, In that Downing Street picture 
Gladstone is seated sidewavs, in the scarlet 

VoL !v ( -2. 

Downing Street mood of the Grand Old 
Man; and it is fitting that it should be here 
Pass eastward -ftf^lffbffie&t room through 

"*v-^TWffl(tHfcAr the old 

a snia 



breakfast-room, into the State Dinirtg-Room 
(see illustration on page 19), Mr, Lloyd 
George now uses this room for all his 
family meals ; and it is here that he holds 
his famous breakfasts. This is not a very 
old room ; for it was designed and constructed 
by Sir John Soane in 1825. I ts walls are 
panelled with oak, and it is roofed with an 
oval cupola. The room is lighted with high 
windows on the eastern side. It stands next 
to the Cabinet Room in dignity and beauty 
of form. In this room many great conclaves 
have been held, and momentous issues have 
been decided. Great Englishmen have^jnet 
together) both in council and in banquet. 
Here were held those breakfast parties to 
which Mr. Gladstone used to invite the 
pick of Victorian England (see illustration on 
page 21). 

The pictures on the walls form a gallery 
of Napoleonic England — Pitt, Fox, Burke, 
Nelson, and Wellington. In the centre of 
the western wall Nelson seems to be stepping 
out of the canvas to greet the guest — Nelson 
the bright-hearted, gayest of men who ever 
played with death. Burke, away in the 
corner, looks pensive ; Fox, nearer to hand > 
looks confident and reckless. But the pre- 
sence that fills the room is that of William 
Pitt, in the copy of Hoppners famous picture 
that hangs over the mantelpiece. The face 
is powerful and moody. The dead black of 
the tight-fitting costume gives to the figure 
a certain sombre majesty. He looks com- 
mandingly and almost imperiously down 
the length of the great room, as if he were 
surveying his own. And, indeed, he may 
well do so. For did not William Pitt the 
younger live for Downing Street as well as 
in it ? Did he not sacrifice to this, love and 
health, wealth and a long life ? 

Here, as we know from his niece Lady 
Hester Stanhope's recorded talks, he toiled 
unspeakably. Here he reigned in stern 
loneliness of soul, a giant among puppets. 
Here he worked for England, dying with the 
sense of failure. For, with all his triumphs, 
the career of Pitt is shadowed with tragedy ; 
and that tragedy seems centred here, in this 
little house, which was his only real home. 

Downstairs, for instance, is' the great 
kitchen which he built for the hospitality 
that plunged him into morasses of debt ; 
and the cellars for the port which helped 
him to an early grave. 

There are more tender pictures of him 
left by the one soul who loved him dearly — 
his niece. 

It was in one of these rooms, for instance, 

Digitized by V_t1 

that -he romped with the Stanhopesj Lady 
Hester and her brothers, who pulled the 
great man down on to the floor and corked 
his face. In the middle of this merry scene 
his servant announced that two Cabinet 
Ministers were waiting to see him. Lady 
Hester describes how William Pitt washed 
his face and immediately changed from the 
gay romper to the master of men. The 
children were awed by the stern look that 
came into his countenance and the frigid 
and stately manner in which he received 
and dismissed his Ministers, 

Again, in one of the rooms above, William 
Pitt was lying fast asleep on that fearful 
night when the First Lord of the Admiralty 
came to announce the terrible news of tlTe 
mutiny at the Nore. Spencer — for it was he 
— entered the bedroom and woke up Pitt. 
The Prime Minister listened to the story 
with absolute calm and gave instructions. 
Spencer went down the stairs, and when he 
had reached the door remembered that he 
had forgotten to tell Pitt some important 
fact. He climbed the stairs again and 
entered Pitt's bedroom. He found that the 
Minister, worn with toil, had turned over 
on his side and gone fast asleep. It was with 
such central calm of soul that Pitt faced 
the great perils of Empire. 

Indeed, Downing Street is not a very 
restful sleeping-place even to-day. What 
with Suffragettes in time of peace and German 
raiders in time of war, here is no easy couch 
for a Minister. He knows very well that 
Downing Street is a central bull's-eye for 
the German aeroplanes, and that it is the 
Mecca of all disturbed pilgrims. The Prime 
Minister requires a good many porters and 
messengers and other useful personages to 
achieve the peace necessary for his labours. 
But there are some persistent disturbers 
who make their way through all this network. 
One night, for instance, Mr. Lloyd George 
was fast asleep in No. n, Downing Street, 
when the house was awakened by a fierce 
assault and battery of knockings. Finally 
a despatch was handed in which was marked 
" Very Urgent/' and Mr, Lloyd George was 
roused from his slumbers. On being opened 
it was discovered to be a message from an 
enterprising newspaper in the Far West of 
America, asking Mr. Lloyd George for a 
special telegram giving his views on his own 
Budget ! 

Each succeeding occupant of Downing 
Street enjoys the Treasury furniture, which 
forms the staple content of the rooms. But 
each can bring j§| ft^many trifles — knick- 




But in the matter of 
chamber decorations he is 
easily contented, and he 
has accepted things as they 
are. Mr, Lloyd George is 
one of those who could 
dwell with equal comfort 
in the tents of Kedar or of 

As to the origins of 
Downing Street, the plain 
truth must be told. 

It was built hy a rascal — 
Puritan who 
first fought with Cromwell 
in his warSj and lived to 
serve Charles II. both at 
home and abroad, He 
served the Merry Monarch 
by betraying old Puritan 
friends to the scaffold; and 
in reward he received the 
j rant of this piece of 

Photo. J/i>j OHm Afft, KR PS. 

knacks and oddments — as 
he or his wife chooses. Thus 
the appearance of the rooms 
varies with the taste of the 
tenant— or , even more, of 
his wife, The new-comers 
often like change. The 
same rooms have been used, 
at various times in history, 
as bedrooms, boudoirs, 
studies, or sitting-rooms. 
Many Prime Ministers bring 
in their own pictures and 
books. The wives some- 
times impose their own 
coverings on the decora- 
tions of their predecessor. 
Mr, Lloyd George has 
brought in his own books, 


***** wi^JtflHMjfflMB 






ground in the precincts of Whitehall. He 
also received a baronetcy and became Sir 
George Downing, and afterwards became Sec- 
retary to the Treasury when it was placed in 
commission. He was a friend of Pepys, who 
called him ie an ungrateful villain,*' and wrote 
it in his Diary, But it w ? as a day of " un- 
grateful villains," and Pepys does not seem 
to have thought very much worse of him 
for that. Sir George Downing was certainly 
a clever rascal , and he had a very good 
eye on the main chance. He developed this 
piece of land by building on it houses for the 
rank and fashion of the new London that was , 
growing up with the Restoration. He lived 
in No, icv but he let the other houses to 
wealthy persons at long leases. He had no 
object but profit 3 and it never crossed his 
mind for one moment that he should present 
the mansion to a Minister of the Crown. On 
the contrary, he took his rents and lined his 
pockets. He starved his mother arid founded 
a fortune, which, by a curious Nemesis, came 
back to the country on the death of his grand* 
son in the form of an endowment for the 
Cambridge college called after his name. 

It was on the falling in of one of these leases 
that No, 10 came to the Crown, which at that 
moment rested on the head of George II . 
George IL seems to have bei-n in a benevolent 
humour, for he gave it first to his Hanoverian 
Minister, Count Bothmar, who conveniently 

Pkoto, Uim tjlivt &ht. t' R.P.& 

died within a year. Then George II. offered 
it to Sir Robert Walpole, who was at the time 
living in St, James's Square, Walpole was 
afraid to accept it without some condition^ 
for he well knew that even if a man is worth 
his price he sells himself by accepting it. So 
he annexed the famous condition that No. io, 
Downing Street, was to belong in perpetuity 
to the First Lords of the Treasury* 

All the fifty Prime Ministers since Walpole 
have worked there ; but many have preferred 
to use it as an office and to reside in more 
luxurious homes. The great Tory and Whig 
nobles who so often presided over our fate in 
the nineteenth century found this little house 
somewhat narrow and inconvenient. The 
Treasury seems to have been in those days 
somewhat mean in the matter of furnishing. 
There were no bathrooms, for instance, in 
No. io until the days of Mr. Asquith, who 
put thera in. During the last ten years both 
houses have had to be renovated several 
times from top to bottom in order to bring 
them up to our ideas of modern conveni- 
ence and sanitation. There is still room for 
improvement. The garden of No. n, for 
in stance , is nothing better than a patch of 
gravel It was proposed to Mr. Gladstone 
that it should be turfed and laid out with 
flower-beds. He turned indignantly on the 
proposer, u Who is to pay for it ? " he said* 
'* I can't," u Well, sir, I suppose the Trea- 
sury," was the answer, 
" The Treasury ! " ex- 
claimed Mr. Gladstone. 
hi Do you imagine that 
the Treasury can afford 
it ? H It was an heroic 
answer^ but the garden 
looked very bare until 
it was covered last year 
with the new sheds of 
the " Garden Suburb." 
The Duke of Well- 
ington refused to leave 
Apsley House and used 
to hold ail his Cabinets 
in that great mansion. 
Lo r d Sal i s bu r y re rnai ned 
in Arlington Street, and 
used to summon his 
Cabinets to the Foreign 
Office, Mr. Gladstone 
thought residence a 
duty , and the present 
Lord Gladstone was 
bom in No. it. But 
there were times when 
fKtm he found it very 





pleasant to live away from 
&1S work, and for some years 
he gave up the house to 
his secretary. Sir Algernon 
West. The last three Prime 
Ministers have all lived in 
Downing Street, and Mr, 
Lloyd George has now been 
in this street since 19x8, 
when he brought his family 
there and gave op his own 
London house. But he too, 
like Mr. Asquitli, has found 
it absolutely necessary to 
escape from the Treasury 
sometimes. He is in the 
habit of going at week-ends 
t> bis house at Walton 
Heath, where he finds a 
refuge from the storm which 
beats on the centre of power. 
There he entertains his pri- 
vate friends > and escapes for 
a time from the furious drive 
of Ministerial life. He loves 
the scenery at Walton, and 
may often be observed 
walking over the commons 
with his dog. 

It was when he came to 
Downing Street that Mr. 
Lloyd George resumed the 
tradition of the Cladstonian 
breakfasts at No, 10, 

They are not so much 
social gathering* as con- 
venient conferences before 
the beginning of the day's 
work. After a few minutes of 
I ght gossip the Prime Minister generally goes 
straight to the subjects of the day and discusses 
them closely throughout breakfast. He is thus 
able to let his mind play freely over events 
iiefore he has been drawn into the turmoil 
of the day's work. 

And yet, perhaps,. after all, the most vital 
impression that our foreign visitor will tarry 
away will be that fragrant and delectable 
intermingling of political and domestic life for 
which Downing Street really stands. For 
here the stern realities of human government 
are very pleasantly assuaged by the softer 
human amenities. The great issues of State 
have a domestic setting. 

The cliange of Prime Ministers that took 
place in December, 1916, has made no differ- 
ence in this respect. Both Mr, Asquith and 
Mr. Lloyd George are devoted family men, 
and their intimate life is always humanized 





Fturta. Mi** vhv* Edit, FJLF& 

with those softening influences. The voices 
and laughter of women and children abate 
the rigours of the sternest breakfast conver- 
sation, and even the most critical Cabinets 
of our time are not far removed from the 
harmonious sounds of family existence. Let 
us hope pleasant traditions will always 
remain bound up with English political life* 

The time will probably come when these 
houses will become historical monuments and 
our Prime Ministers will be better lodged. 
It is fervently to be hoped that then these 
houses will not be pulled down ; for they 
contain in every corner and passage reminders 
of England's greatness. There is not a 
room that is not crammed with history. If 
only as temples of the noble past^ these tw r o 
dwellings — Nos. 10 and 1 1 — ought always to be 
reverently preserved and carefully guarded 
by the British J^Qtf.fronn 





Illustrated by A. Gilbert, R.O.L 

i. _ 

SKATOON was in a ferment. 
Ten miles away from it a man. 
Michele Bordinot, had been 
brought home with an ugly 
wound, got in a quarrel on the 
river many miles north, and he 
had at last died under the care 
of the Young Doctor, who, 
though forty-seven years of age, was still called 
by the name given him when he first went to 
town twenty years before. The Young Doctor 
had no hope of the case from the first day, and 
frankly said so, but he gave all his skill and care 
as faithfully as though the man had every chance 
to live. At first he even went so far as to hide 
from Bordinot's daughter, Julie, the stern 
truth ; and then gradually prepared her for 
the bad news. 

After this first visit, in which he was more 
concerned for the man's well-being than for 
the incident which had brought him where he 
was, he said to Patsy Kernaghan, who was a 
kind of maid-of-all-work at Askatoon : — 

" A bad business, Patsy — a scurvy, dirty 
business, and I hope they'll get the man that 
did it." 

" Do you know how it happened, Doctor 
dear ? " asked Patsy. " The whole story from 
A to Z ? " 

'• No, I don't— do you ? " 
" I h'ard it from the police while you was gone 
to Bordinot's. It's a nasty story, y'r anner — 
as nasty as the West has ever had to deal with 
in anny winter or summer since the Injuns left 
it to us white men. Y' see, it was like this: 
There was quarrelling all the way from Bashton's 
Boom down the Rirock River, where Bordinot 
was done in — anny quarrelling on the river is 
bad, but when it's betune English and French 
it's ten times worse. Well, Bordinot's French, 
and he'd been nursing his hatred, not making a 
fuss from first to last ; but Wybert Grieve, who 
done the thing, was on the bust as hard as man 
could be. It might ha' been Kilkenny ! He 
shoved up agin Bordinot, and when Bordinot 
got mad, whipped out his knife, and give him 
no show — just laid in for all he was worth, and 
Bordinot hadn't no chanct at all. He wasn't 
quick enough with his own knife, and that's 

Copyright, 1917, 

what done for him, for otherwise he'd have wiped 
the floor with two Wybert Grieves, and not 
done annything unusual. Then the English lot 
broke away south-east, and Bordinot's friends 
brought him home, and you was sent for." 

" That's the story, is it ? " said the Young 
Doctor. " Well, it has some nasty sides to it. 
What do the police say about catching Grieve ? 
Have they got track of him ? " 

" No. He took to the woods soon after 
the killing, and they ain J t got wind of him, I'm 
told. But they'll get him — get him all right. 
Doctor dear. I'm sure o' that — sure as if I 
had his hiding-place in me mind's eye. It does 
a lot o' harm, these bad things done by the 
British. There's Bordinot's daughter — a fine 
girl — I know her. It'll have hit her plumb in 
the eye — hasn't it, then ? " 

" Yes, she's hit hard, Patsy 1 She don't know 
the worst yet, but he can't. last more than five 
or six days, and she's got to be told. She's 
the only one of the family — never had any 
brothers or sisters, and the mother's dead and 
gone. Yes, it's rough on her, Patsy ; and I 
don't see what can be done to help her." 

" Well, she'll have the farm and all that's 
in it and on it, y'r anner. She'll be a catch for 

M Why, it isn't much of a place," remarked 
the Young Doctor. " It can't be, or Bordinot 
wouldn't have been working on the river. He 
couldn't have been very solid on the farm, 

" Well, he only worked on the river in the 
Fall after his crops was in — not so much off 
a hunderd acres, y'r anner. And he was a 
foreman on the river at four dollars a day. 
That helped to pay for the farm. Three months 
— ninety days — at four dollars a day ; that's 
three hunderd and sixty dollars, and the farm 
only cost a thousand." 

" What do you think the farm's worth now. 
Patsy ? " 

" That place ! Oh, about four thousand 
dollars, house, land, and cattle. Julie can't 
fly about on that, but it's better than nothing, 
and it'll draw a good lot of eyes to her. If I 
was younger " 

The Young Doctor sniffed. " Patsy, you're 
a bold buccaneer, but you go too far. If you'd 

by cuber, ptffflVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



been all you think you are, you'd have been 
married years ago— women ain't so scarce that 
you'd have had to go grazing alone in the world- 
pasture." * 

M Aw, I'm riot like y'r anner, I know — only 
a kind of rouseabout, with no looks or reputa- 
tion, and no gifts for recipes or nursing. No, 
I'm not like y'r anner.'* 

TheYoung Doctor laughed softly now. " Patsy," 
said he, " you've got as much insolence in you as 
any man in all the West, but you must be borne, ' 
for you're not all bad. Maybe you'd like to 
go out to Bordinot's with me. You've got some 
useful ways, and you might be needed. So, 
get readyJiT you like to come." 

Patsy's face lighted. " Like to come — ah, 
y'r anner, I'd give a great lot annyhow to drive 
with you ! You've got ways of talking like 
none other, and, besides, it's safe going with you, 
If I fell down a ditch or bumped agin a timber, 
there you'd be, and I'd be safe. Besides, if 
the man's going to die, I'd like to be there for 
the measurin' and embalmin' — if there's goin' 
to be embalmin'. He was" well built, was 
Bordinot. He'd make a good layin' out, an 
no mistake." 

Two months later, and over seven weeks 
after Bordinot had been " measured and em- 
balmed " and buried, a man, Dudy Massaw, was 
chopping trees on the Rirock River in good 
spirits and great heart. He had had a useful 
and momentous day, and it was drawing to a 
close. He was a new-comer in the Askatoon 
district, and he was clearing a space for building 
a house on his new farm. It was wooded 
prairie land which he had bought of the Govern- 
ment, and he had the deeds safely filed and the 
land all paid for. Only the morning of the day 
before he had bade good-bye to a wayfarer who 
had spent the night at his camp — a man whom 
he did not like, and concerning whom, from the 
first, he had had doubts and misgivings. Yet 
it was a country where everyone who travelled 
had a right of way, a place in every house and 
at every table, no questions asked and no demands 
made ; and so the man had gone on his way 
with his tarpaulin pack on his shoulders, but 
leaving behind, by accident, a letter with his 
name on it — Wybert Grieve — and Dudy Massaw 
had found it. After some twists of conscience, 
some compunctions and remorseful hesitations, 
he had read the letter ; and he had learned 
from it that the man who had lost it was wanted 
.for the murder of Michele Bordinot, who lived 
only three miles away from himself through 
the wood. He — Dudy Massaw — had heard of 
the killing of Michele Bordinot, and after finding 
the letter he wondered what he ought to do — 
go to the police, or to Bordinot's place and tell 
hi* daughter. At last he decided that he must 
find the police and give the information he had, 
that the man who killed Michele Bordinot had 
been that day almost within a stone's throw of 
his victim's home. He decided that he would 
go to the police the first thing in the morning. 
Meanwhile, he * must finish the chopping, cook 
his supper, and go to bed in the tent. 


It had been a cold, clear April day, and the 
sky was bathed in a flood of colour from the 
sinking sun. He was near the end of his long 
day's job. A big spruce tree was lodged on 
the top of two others, and in trying to " butt 
off " the partially fallen tree and *bring it down 
it fell suddenly. He was, therefore, caught 
beneath a huge .mass of timber, one leg being 
broken. It was pinned to the ground beneath 
the tree as in a vice. He had lost consciousness 
when the thing occurred, and remained lying 
stitl and lifeless in the spruce woods until the 
stars showed in bright glimmer through the 
branches. Then, numbed with cold and faint 
with pain and loss of blood, he came back to 

In his cramped position he knew that he 
would soon freeze, and he made a desperate 
struggle for life and freedom and against his 
stern fate. He was able to reach his axe, and 
with his pocket-knife he cut off thfc helve half- 
way, so that he could use it while sitting almost 
under the log. With the energy of despair 
he began cutting through the spruce log — two 
feet in diameter — to free himself. Only a 
trained and skilful chopper could have done it, 
but before the dipper sank out of sight behind 
the tree-tops, shpwing that midnight had come, 
the tree was cut in two, and, with all his remaining 
strength, Dudy rolled the short butt-log away, 
and was free. 

His legs were numb and useless as sticks of 
wood, and the right one, which had been pinned 
beneath the tree, was not only broken below 
the knee, but partly frozen, the blood having 
ceased to flow from the lacerated flesh. Yet 
Dudy set out on the pathway which led to 
Bordinot's house, where he could get help and 
send for a doctor. Dragging his mangled leg 
like a log behind him, he crawled over the 
frosty ground with an undaunted courage and 
hope, suffering agonies every foot of the way he 
covere^L. Again and again he dropped his head 
on the ground in his pain and trouble, and all 
his life seemed sinking out of him like water 
from a pail -an eternal wastage. Yet he held 
himself firmly and kept on. He had no dread 
of death, and yet he wanted to live. He had 
lived so little in all his life, in a sense, and he 
wanted to begin existence in this wonderful 
open land, where all the stored energy of the 
world seemed to be. He had come from a big 
farm in the East, a f rm that belonged to his 
father, but on which there was only living for 
one family— not for two, and he meant that 
there should be a family of his own when he saw 
a girl of the right sort. Youth, the strength of 
youth, and the glow of good blood were strong 
in him, and he had taken three thousand dollars * 
— -all he had, and well earned — -and had come 
West and bought the land which he was trying to 
clear for his homestead. 

As he strained and dragged himself on, it 
was with the protest of youth against untoward 
Fate. Why should he be sacrificed by the result 
of a mistake ? Now and again he stopped and 
broke the ice at the side of the path, and drank 
the water be.ieatA, which gave him new life 




and strength, though it was agony even to 
swallow, and his hands were bruised from drag- 
ging himself along ; for it was impossible to do 
aught else than pull his weight over the ground 
foot by foot for over two miles and three-quar- 
ters. Then, at last, with the sun well up, he 
made his miserable way into the open prairie, 
and saw in the near distance — that is, within 
a quarter mile — Bordinot's house, back from the 
road, and, far off, men 
going towards A ska toon* 
He felt that he must try 
to call to them, and he 
made as if to raise his 
voice* but the wind 
crapped his throat and 
he slopped trying — it 
was no use. Then he 
almost fainted with pros- 
tration, for he had been 
dragging himself ever 
since midnight, and with 
no success, if he \v;is 
to die within sight and 
sound of his fellow- men ! 
' Surely/' he said to 
himself, " J 'in not going 

to die while safety's in sight ! I won't give it 
no, I won't give in — by God, I won't ! *' 

He dragged himself on, with fast-glazing eyes, 
but his strength was failing, and it seemed to 
him that he could not endure much longer. 
Vet he kept his eyes on Bordinot's house— his 
dimmed, cloud rd eyes, in which there was only 
a last flicker of life and a stark look of purpose, 
His skin was haggard, his checks sunken and 
drawn, his forehead wrinkled, his hair wet with 
sweat, his hands nruised and worn, yet gnarled 
and determined still. He looked thirty years 
older than he really was ; his youth was gone 
like a cloud ; and he was left like smoking flax, 
a vestige of yesterday, thrown into the lap of 
to-day. And what a 
to-day it was — all sun 
and light and stinging 
air of the spring with 



life in every capful of the air, and hope in every 
twist of the soft, sharp wind. 

■' By gad, but I must do it with drums beat- 
ing ! " he said, gallantly, yet the vexed distor- 
tion of his lips, after saying the words, gave 
little assurance of the truth of the hope. Food 
— he had had none since the day before at noon, 
and yet he had no craving. Drink was all he 
longed for, and drink he could have by breaking 
the ice at the side of the path and lapping the 
water from the little pools. But now he went 
on with a punishing, agonizing slowness, and 
he had no strength to call aloud, no voice with 
which to complain or call. It was a sad, 
unbearable business, and suddenly all his strength 
seemed to collapse, and he felt himself sinking 
away again into unconsciousness. But before 
he collapsed he saw a woman leave the house of 
Bordinot, and with a last excruciating effort 
he drew all his strength to his lips and called — 
a stark, poignant, despairing call, as of one who 
made a last summons of life and time. 

And perhaps the woman — Julie Bordinot — 
heard* At any rate, she put her hat on her head 
and strode away towards where Dudy Massaw 
lay unconscious in the path. Her footsteps 
were quick, her walking was like that of one who 
knew that there was work for her to do. Yet 
in truth she had heard nothing actually. At 
first she had only felt that she must walk away 
from the liousfc where her dead father had lived ; 
for it was as though his spirit called to her. 
Some call she heard, even if it was not the voice 
of Dudy Ma$saw. She kept straight on, as though 
drawn by irresistible influence to the spot 
where the battered man lay. Her mind was full 
of her ovn troubles and sorrows, for many things 
had harried her since Michele Bordinot's death, 
and every hour had its call and its duty. She 
felt sorely the need of her father, of the strange 
man who had been like a wall of stone against 
any trouble attacking her while he was alive. 
And now she was alone ; and she would have 
been completely helpless, if it had not been for 
the Young Doctor who steadfastly advised her, 
though she ^nly saw him now and then. Yet 
he had said she must go to him when she was in 
perplexity, and she had gone to him twice, 
and come away stronger and better for the talk ; 
though she could not tell him all her troubles 
— how the need of a man to manage the farm 
and protect her was ever with her ! 

She walked quickly, and she kept her head 
up, for she had too niuch responsibility to 
permit a gloom which would weigh down her 
body or lower her eyes. She had a nature that 
instinctively looked up, and now, as she walked, 
she raised her head and drew in the fresh, strong 
air with eager lungs. She had had hard days 
since her father died. She bad, that very morn- 
ing, used firm, strong words to her men-helpers, 
and sent them away with a sting in her words ; 
for they were inclined to play the tyrant over 
her, if it could be done, and she promptly and 
decisively acted. There was no one in the house 
now except an oldish, fat woman-servant, 
who was very good to her, and gave her much 
help by the fresh and fond nature of her talk. 

She had come tb depend greatly on the woman 
for inspiration to do her work without whining, 
and she had counselled with her that very 
morning about the men — to advantage; for 
Deborah had said : — 

"Be a man in dealing with men, miss, or 
they'll have you under their thumbs for the rest 
of their days. Stop their mouths, if you've got 

She had followed the advice, arid the men had 
taken the dressing-down without resentment, 
and had gone towards Askatoon to complete 
some arrangements with a neighbouring farmer. 
There were no men at the moment in the house 
or on the place. It was, therefore, with a shock 
of anxiety that she saw lying on the ground the 
shattered body of Dudy Massaw. She dropped 
on her knees beside it. 

" Oh, poor fellow — poor man ! " she said, and 
put her hand on his heart, then felt his pulse. 
" Thank God, he is alive ! " she added. " But 
little more. He's been hurt horrible." 

She saw the . crumpled leg and felt it ; she 
looked at the lacerated hands and the haggard 
face, and "then turned, and putting up her hands 
to her mouth called loudly, through them, to 
Deborah at the house. Three times she called, 
and the call was a little like the cooee of the 
Australian, but even more searching and reach- 
ing, and presently she saw the woman appear in 
the doorway. She beckoned for Deborah, and 
presently Deborah came running hard, and 
with an air which seemed to say, " I know there's 
trouble where you are, but I'm comin' — I'm 

In a few minutes she reached the spot where 
Julie was, and found her trying to restore con- 
sciousness to the poor shattered man by chafing 
his hands, by lifting his head, by calling to him. 
To no purpose, for Dudy Massaw was in the last 
stages of beaten eflort. 

" Oh, he's been hurt by the trees 1 " exclaimed 
Deborah. " He's a stranger. He looks as if 
he'd seen death a hundred times." 

" Well, we must carry him to the house," said 
Julie, " and then you'll go for the doctor — to 
Askatoon. It's the only way. He can't go oh 
as he is, or he'll be a dead man before noon. Be 
careful now. . . . No, don't try to lift him that 
way. His leg is. broken below the knee. Take 
his legs above the knee through your arms, and 
1*11 take his head and shoulders. That's the 
only way to do it. Steady now. Lift slowly 
and steadily. Ah, poor man, we'll be lucky if 
we save him ! He's had a real bad time. . . . 
There, that's right. Now, go ahead carefully 
and don't stumble." 

For some moments they crawled forward with- 
out speaking, and then Deborah said : — 

" He'll need lots of care. He may have come 
miles like this." 

" He'll have all he can do to get well," said 
Julie. "Steady — don't hurry! We'll get him 
there all right. My dear, you sweat so. Don't fuss, 
and it'll be all right. I'd like to put him to bed 
in a hospital, but that can't be, and " 

" There's yeur father's room and his bed. It's 
all ready made, and if you d like " 


, ■ 2 * 


t? < 




11 Yes, it's the only place for him, ami I'd like 
to think that it'd be used for the first time 
after by one that's been hurt like this poor 

Another quarter of an hour, and Dudy Massaw 
was laid on the bed in Michele Bordinots room, 
and Deborah was sent to hitch up a horse and 
buggy and go for the Young Doctor at x^skatoon. 
Dudy Massaw was still insensible, and no effort 
at resuscitation had any eliect. His teeth were 
set, his body was cold, his broken and lacerated 
leg was bleeding slightly. Carefully and gently 
Julie took off his boots, and from the injured leg 
she removed the stocking with care, not folding 
up/ but cutting up the trouser, so that the leg, 
bare to the knee, showed sickly in the light of 

No feelings of false delicacy stirred in Julie's 
mind Here was a man in acute su tiering and 
trouble, and he must be attended to. She should 
do it, and not Deborah, who was single like her- 
self, and only a little older ; yet no older in all 
that makes a woman helpful on the earth or 
entitled to heaven. She heard the rattle of the 
wheels over which Deborah was hastening for 
the Young Doctor; and then her heart sank in 
spite of herself, for the man on the bed might 
die at any moment and she be here alone with 
him. In any case, she would be left alone with 
him for two and a half hours, for it would take 
that time, at least, for the Young Doe tor to 
arrive* To be alone with a young man, sick or 


well, for that time was, in the eyes of the world, 
a scandalous thing for a young woman. She 
knew what the wrinkled sisters of the town of 
Askatoon would say if they knew. But she 
shook such feelings from her mind, and gave 
herself to restoring consciousness to the battered 
body before her. Without avail. Yet she had 
been able to increase the stroke of the pulse by 
forcing between the teeth some brandy — a very 
little, yet sufficient to increase the impulses of 
the heart and the nerves, The eyes, however, 
would not open, and no chafing of the hands or 
rubbing of the fate or breast — for she opened 
his shirt and massaged his chest — would bring 
any change in his condition. She had no com- 
punction in chafing his breast, for all the con- 
ditions were such as to make her actions sacred. 
It was her own father's room and bed, and every 
moment this man stayed here was part of family 
history in a way, Soon it became acute family 
history ; for h anxious to know who the man was, 
she felt in the pocket of the coat for something 
which could tell her, and she drew out a letter 
addressedjto Wybert Grieve t 

With a cry of horror she dropped the envelope 
on the bed beside the body, 

Wybert Grieve — that was the name of the 
man who had killed her father — the man fr>r 
whom the police were searching, for whom the 
Law was waiting. Wybert Grieve ! Of all names 
on earth it was the name most detestable to 
herself. If li.ail pursued her in her dreams at 




night, and shocked the air around her senses 
by day.- But wait ! Perhaps there were two men 
of the same name ! So she opened the letter 
and began to read it. One glance showed her 
that it was the real man who had killed her 
father, who made her an orphan, a fragment of 
Nature from which the soul had been stripped, 
leaving her, as it were, naked in the place of 
torment. And here was the murderer lying 
broken on her father's bed, being cared for by 
her father's daughter ! 

It sent her back from the bed with horror ; it 
drained the strength of her body and gripped 
her very soul with a cold and cruel hand. She 
sank upon a bunk against the wall, her eyes 
fastened on the man with malediction in her 
heart and at her tongue. Her first impulse was 
to seize a knife and drive it into the man's heart, 
but that passed with a queer and dastardly 
quickness, and she asked herself what; she was 
to do. 

There was one thing she could do — which she 
must do : she must leave the man alone, and 
not try to bring him back to life, not try to 
restore him. Then there was the Young Doctor. 
When he came he could deal with the situation 
with skill and judgment. Meanwhile, the man 
was on her father's bed — the man who killed her 
father was lying on his bed — carried there by 
her own hands ! The thought of it made her 
tremble with disgust. She had been the agent 
of evil, the author of her own shame. She had 
thrown contaminating things on her father's 
tomb, had polluted the memory of her mother. 
She had done it, of course, innocently ; yet she 
had done it ; and there it was — the contamina- 
tion on the bed where her dear father's body 
had lain in life and death. 

Thank God her mother had never lain there ! 
That, at any rate, could not be charged against 
her. It had been pure bad luck. She had not 
been a willing agent in this infamous thing. The 
man ought to be hanged, yet in the passion of 
her horror and shock something still spoke for 
him. Her hands had rubbed his legs and his 
chest ; she had felt the cold touch of his body 
and it had not repelled her. She had spoken 
kind words to him, and there had been no stark 
reaction in her mind or heart — no natural in- 
stinctive reaction. Surely, if the man killed her 
father, she should have felt horror and reaction 
when she touched him. Instead of that she had 
felt an infinite pity for him and had prayed God 
to bring Jiim back to consciousness. She wished 
to see the colour of his eyes — the eyes of the 
man who had killed her father with a knife on 
the Rirock River so short a time ago — only eight 
weeks ago. 

She got up from the bunk where she sat and 
went towards the bed slowly, timorously, yet 
with a great agonizing rage in her heart. The 
man had killed her father, and he was lying on 
the bed where her father had suffered and died. 
He must not stay there. It was no place for 
such a man. He must be moved — where ? Oh, 
any place, any plaoe ! He must not be let stay 
where he now was. As she approached the bed, 
however, a strange and terrible weakness took 

possession of her. She could not have lifted a 
cat from the floor. And the man was, even 
haggard and insensible, full of handsomeness. 
Was she mad ? Yes, as she looked at him, the 
sense of his handsomeness came home to he/- 
with force. He may have beert a murderer, but 
he was surely handsome, and had the flesh of 
a man who was no murderer, but a clean-living 
being. And he was dying — on her father's bed ! 

Suddenly a storm of feeling shook her. If the 
man was really dying, and she raised no hand to 
help him, she would be revenging her father by 
causing the man's death, not on the gallows, but 
here. Dying ! If that was so, what should she do ? 
He was a fellow-human being ; he had had an 
accident and been smashed. God had done that 
to him, and the Law, if and when it took him, 
would do more. What, then, should she do- 
take out of God's hands and the Law's hands 
their rights and duties ? When a man was in 
prison condemned to death what did the warders 
do— what did they do if the man was taken ill ? 
Why, they waited on the man, tended him, 
assuaged his illness, made him fit again and 
strong enough to be hanged. 

If one of the warders was a relative of the 
convict, what would he do ? Her thoughts were 
like lightning flashes in her mind. What would 
the warder-relative do ? Well, if it chanced 
that way, he would say, " The man belongs to 
the Law, and the Law must deal with him. For 
me, I must do my duty as a human being, and 
save the man for the Law, if I can," Well, here 
was a man at death's door, who had killed her 
father, and he was broken like a stick and could 
not escape. He was there alone with her on 
the bed of the man he had killed. What, then, 
should she do, the daughter of the man who 
had been killed ? What should she do ? 

Tlie man on the bed moaned slightly, and that 
instant and incident decided her. She raised his 
head on her arm, and she thought it strange 
that, in spite of all the mental condemnation she 
felt, no physical repulsion carile to her. Surely 
there was no such thing as natural hatred — 
natural and justified hatred ! Somehow she 
could not feel that the man was repulsive to her. 
She even forced some more brandy between his 
closed teeth, not now so tightly clenched. She 
had even a thrill of pity when the poor creature 
moaned again. 

" Open your eyes and look mc in the face," 
she said, with anguished sharpness ; but he made 
no sign that he understood. Yet the warmth of 
her clasp seemed to do him good, and his head 
was resting on her bosom. She laid him down 
again and worked a little with the broken leg, 
trying, as it seemed, to set it, and she stanched 
the blood from the bruise and wound which the 
sharp wood had made. 

Two hours later the Young Doctor examined 
the still-unconscious man. " It's a bad case/' 
he said, when he had finished. " He's had a 
hard time — leg smashed by a falling tree. I 
wonder who he is ? " 

To this Julie made rio reply. She had not 




the courage to tell the Young Doctor what she 

A jlittle later, with the help of a student he 
had brought with him, the Young Doctor set 
the broken leg, then carefully put the man to, 
fSed wearing on* of Michele Bordinot's night- 
shirts, but still unconscious and with somefever. 

" As fine a carcass as I've ever seen," was his 
comment on his patient. " But he's in a bad 
wa.y, and he'll need a lot of care — that's sure. 
It's lucky in a way, though, for Julie is upset, 
and the care of him may just be what she needs. 
I must get him back to sensibility, though. He 
mustn't go on as he is." 

Therefore he injected a preparation in Dudy 
Massaw's shoulder, forced some brandy between 
his teeth, and chafed his hands, as Julie had 
done. At length the man opened his eyes. The 
look in them was wild. It had the vague gleam 
of the irresponsible. 

" That's bad," said the Young Doctor. " Very 
bad. How are you feeling ? " he asked. Then 
he added : " Tell me, what's your name ? I'm 
the doctor. What's your name ? " 

The reply was a jumble of inconsequent 
sounds — broken sentences, detached phrases, un- 
kempt rhetoric, appeals to some higher power, 
adjurations to the tree which had been his 
undoing, anguished references to his terrible 
journey in the night towards where he now was. 

The Young Doctor saw that there was nothing 
to be gained by questioning, but presently he was 
startled by hearing the name of Wybert Grieve 
spluttered through the disorganized speech, and 
he looked down at the sick man with sharp 
inquiry. Wybert Grieve, he knew, was the 
name of the man who had killed Michele Bordinot 
— and what did it mean ? Was this man ? 

H« gave Dudy some quieting drink, and when 
the eyes closed again he took from the pocket 
of Massaw's coat on the chair the letter with 
Wybert Grieve's name on it. ^ 

" Great God ! " he said. "And here in- this 
house and in this bed, and in Michele Bordinot's 
night-shirt ! But no, it isn't possible. It can't 
be." He turned to the student. ri Do you 
know who this is ? " he asked, jerking a finger 
to the bed. The student shook his head in 
negation. " Well, it's Wybert Grieve, the man 
who killed Michele Bordinot ! " 

He looked to see a shocked expression come 
to the student's face, but none came — only a 
startled protest came instead. 

" Oh, no, it isn't I " said the student. " It 
certainly isn't Wybert Grieve. I saw the picture 
of Grieve in the Winnipeg Free Press, and it was 
nothing like this man. This man has an honest, 
commonplace face and figure — a gentleman's 
tufn-out, and Wybert Grieve had a face like 
what he was, gnarled and stormy and reckless. 
He was a regular dead-beat was Wybert Grieve. 
This man's an honest pioneer, if ever there 
was one." 

" Yes, that's his appearance," said the Youne 
Doctor, " and I'd have taken my oath on his 
honesty from his face, but the only letter in°his 
pocket is one addressed to Wybert Grieve. 
What's the difference in the faces, if you've seen 

the real picture of Wybert Grieve ? Is it the 
eyes, or the forehead, or the hair ?■ " 

*' Neither — it's the nose. Wybert Grieve had 
a nose like an ancient Roman, all curve and 
crook — a regular stone-breaker ; and this man's 
nose is like a piece of beautiful marble cut out 
to a Greek pattern." 

'* Well, I'm very glad to hear it. It'd be a 
bad thing if Julie was housing in her father's 
bed the man that killed her father 1 " 

Ten minutes later he stood in the dining-room 
beside Julie, and under the sharp inquiry of 
Julie's eyes. 

" Who is he ? " Julie asked. " Did conscious- 
ness come back ? " 

The Young Doctor shook his head in negation. 
" He had a letter in his pocket with a name on 
it, but my assistant says that it isn't right, that 
the man on the bed isn't the man whose name 
was on the envelope." r 

" Isn't Wybert Grieve ? " the girl said. " Isn't 
Wybert Grieve ? " 

Her face became deadly pale. The flush that 
had been there for three hours had gone,' leaving 
her like a garden-flower which lightning had 
flayed — a blighted shrub. Then she sank into 
the chair beside him with a helpless gesture. 
" I'm so glad," she cried. ** I saw the letter, 
and I thought " 

" Good God 1 You saw that letter, and you 
believed it was Wybert Grieve, and yet ! " 

" Yes, what else could I do ? " , 

A look of wonder, a comprehending wonder, 
came into the Young Doctor's face. " You did 
that, believing " 

" What was there to do — let fum die ? " 

" Some women would have done so," answered 
the doctor, bluntly. " I shouldn't like to have 
been tempted ,30 — as you were. You have the 
courage of the saints, and you herewll alone with 
the man — here alone for two and a half hours I 
I know how you lov^d your father, and I can 
guess what all this must have cost you." 

" No, not even you couj^i guess," the girl 
answered, " and that's saying much," she added, 
admiringly, but with her eyes full of tears and 
her hands trembling in her lap. 

" He is almost conscious now," the Young 
Doctor said. " And you can find out from lum 
who he really is. I'll come to-morrow, and I'll 
send you a nurse this afternoon, so you can get 
some sleep to-night. Meanwhile, I'll leave my 
student-friend here. If you don't mind feeding 
'him, you'll find him a great help." 

The girl gratefully acknowledged the Icindness, 
and said : " My men will be back this evening, 
and one of them can help, but I'll be glad of 
your assistant meanwhile. I'll find out the sick 
man's name — just who he is — when he's back to 
normal again. I'm glad he's not Grieve, and 
yet — how could I know ? " 

" You've suffered enough in those hours to be 
a punishment for all your life's wrongdoing, 
however long your life may be," remarked the 
Young Doctor. 

" I did what I felt I had to," remarked Julie. 

A few moments later the Young Doctor, in his 
buggy behind his roans, said : " Perhaps he may 







going to nurse him 

health — I guess ! " 

He added the last words rather hesitating] y% 

he was not wholly sure that Dudy Mass 

would live. He had suffered greatly, and his 

lun: affected — whether temporarily ur not 

not sure. Pneumonia might set in, or 

t case tl nothing 

Never mind, the gfri will profit by it. ft 
will call her out of herself. It will take her mind 
66 her own t raged> 
That was what he said. 

The next day Julie stood beside the bed -f 
Dudy Massaw, well-controlled, and i^lad to 
thai Hie sick man's eyes had a light ot wise 



"I'm glad you're better," she said, bravely. 
" I'm very glad." 

" How long have I been here ? " lie asked, eagerly 
■ — more eagerly than his condition warranted. 

" Only one day," was the reply. 

" How did I get here ? " he asked. 

" I brought you — Deborah and I," she 
answered. Then she told him what had happened 
from the time she saw- him first. " I couldn't 
send word to your friends," she said. " I didn't 
know your name." 

" There was^aletter in my pocket," he answered 
astutely, and heieyed her closely. 

" But not addressed to you," she replied. 

" How did you know that ? " he asked. 

" I didn't know it — not at first." 

" And yet you took care of me — nursed me ! " 

" You were there 'before me with a broken leg, 
and at your last gasp," she answered, sighing. 

" But Wybert Grieve killed your lather, and 
at first " 

" Yes, at first I believed " 

His hands made a motion as though they 
would take her own, but abstained, and only his 
eyes showed what he felt.. 

" My name is Dudy Massaw," he said, pre- 
sently, in a hushed sort of voice. " I have a 
new farm next to yours, and " 

" Yes, I know that now," she said. 

" And I have no family. I am not married. 
I came out here to make a home*. I have people 
in the East, but that's all. I'm a lone stranger, 
and as soon as I can I must leave here, where 
you've been so good to me." 

" Where will you go ? " she asked. 

" There's places in Askatoon, I s'pose," he said. 

" There's a hospital, of course, but you mustn't 
go to it." 

" Why mustn't I ? I'm a load on your kind- 
ness here." 

" Not a heavy load," she answered-; " but it 
is for the doctor to decide." 

" Then I'll ask him," was the serious reply. 
" Ah ! " 

The exclamation was caused by a sharp pain 
that suddenly shot through his chest, and he 
coughed sharply. " That's bad," he said, with 
anxiety. " That's very bad." 

" I'll fly-blister you," she said, firmly. "It 
comes from your exposure last night." 

She moved out of the room briskly. Her 
spirits were good, her temper sweet and sane. 
She was doing what would call her out of herself, 
what would take her mind off her own grief. 
The relief from knowing that he was not Wybert 
Grieve was immense — revealing and comforting. 
She felt as though she had had a dose of some 
great stimulating medicine. She sought the 
kitchen with shining eyes, and there she made 
the fly-blister ready. Like most farmers' houses 
on the prairie, such things as fly-blisters are 
part of the furnishment of the house. With 
the blister she returned to Dudy Massaw and 
found him suffering much. 

" I'll send again for the Young Doctor if you're 
not better this afternoon," she said. 

" But he'll be out in the morning, and I can 
stand it till then," Dudy Massaw said. 

Two months later, in the month of June, the 
two had another talk. Dudy Massaw stood at 
the door of the house, where was a horse saddled 
and ready for travel.' He had had an hour alone 
with Julie, and suddenly, at the door, he turned 
to her again. 

" No, I'm going to get that Wybert Grieve. 
He's the cause of trouble in you)- lifer and I 
want to get him. He spent a night with me, as 
you know, and he left that letter behind by 
accident. I want to see him in the hands of 
the Law. You won't take pay — won't take a 
cent for all the weeks I've spent in your house 
and ate your food and played the sick zany; and 
so I've got to pay it back in other ways. So 
I'm going to get Wybert Grieve for you, if I can. 
He's, not beyond getting, I'll bet. But the police 
don't understand where to look for him. They 
think he's far away — east of Winnipeg, or like 
that. I don't. I think he's up in the country 
where he did his crime. I bet he's on the 
Rirock River somewhere, camping and fishing — 
and killing things." 

The girl had sense and feeling and good 
judgment. She wanted him to go. She had 
learned to care for him in the weeks he had 
been in her charge, but she felt that she wanted 
to be alone for awhile before everything was 
settled. He had' not asked her to be his wife, 
but he had said things which were as good as 
music to her soul. He had held her hand and 
had pressed it hard when he had thanked her 
for all she had done ; and he had given Deborah 
and two of the hired men gifts of money for their 
care and attention. He had struck a note in 
her life that no one else had ever struck, and all 
his nature had thrilled at her words and at her 
touch. While he was dangerously ill only pity 
and sympathy moved her, but as soon as he 
became better every nerve in her body palpitated 
with a new feeling — a feeling she had never felt 
before in her life. 

" I'll be glad if you get him," she said, at last, 
and reached out and touched his shoulder with 
a faint smile. " It'll seem like as if we'd done 
our duty then. I don't know why the police 
haven't got him. They do get 'em in the end 
in this country," she added. " Yes, they do get 
'em — I'll say that. But it's long waiting some* 
times — when it's^one's own. It isn't because I'm 
revengeful that I want him caught. It's deeper 
than that. So get him if you can, please — Dudy." 

It was the first time she had ever called him 
by his Christian name, and his eyes lighted like 
young fires, but he made no sign of his pleasure. 
He felt that he must do this thing for her before 
he asked her to be his wife. It would be proof 
to her how much he cared. He could spend 
time and money that way, and so repay her in 
a sense for all she had done. He knew that 
people had gossiped, had shrugged their shoulders 
at his being in the house of Julie Bordinot- 1 — he 
a young man and she a young woman — but it 
was only the women who had gossiped, and he 
did not care, except for Julie's sake. He had 
asked to be removed to the hospital at Askatoon, 
but the Young Doctor would not consent, and 
he had stayed in the? Bordinots' house, happier 



3 l 

than he had ever been in his life, and suffering 
physically as he had never sufrered. All that 
was over now, and he faced the open world with 
a strong heart and a high purpose. The day was 
perfect — a day of early June, when all the world 
seemed good and glad, when the air was ringing 
with life and buoyant with vigour, 

" Well, good-bye/' he said, with a note of 
friendly regard. " I'll get him if he's to be 
found. He ain't so very far away, III bet on 
that. I'm goin" first to the Break Me Easy Hotel 
He's got some friends there, and he'll have left 
his address with someone there. They're a bad 
crowd at that place, and he'll have 'em tight, 
They'll stand by him through thick and thin. 
Yes, I'm goin' there/ 7 

A moment later he was cantering away, not 
towards A ska toon, rather to the back country, 

where he meant to look for Wybert Grieve in 
river and wood haunts. He took the view 
that a man of Grieve's type was always the 
victim of habit of mind and body,' that he. 
would frequent only paths that he had always 
known ; that he would keep away from towns 
and villages ; and that he would not go to " the 
States," He was sure of his psychology of th# 
man, and he acted accord ingly — and wisely. 
At the end of the second day he came to the 
Break Me Easy 
place, and there 
he learned — after 
two days — that 

"so t you don't, honey]' 


illkk ! p " Original from 


;oo$(r NKi[ 




Wybert Grieve had been in the district within 
the week, that he had gone " nor' -west." 

He found that out by astute means from an 
old groom and horse-cleaner. He spoke as 
though he knew that Wybert Grieve had been 
at the Break Me Kasy f and sajd he had a letter 
for him from an old friend — one of the lot who 
were with him when Michele Bordinot was 
struck down. He showed the letter to the man, 
who saw that he had spoken the truth, and at 
once admitted the fact that Wybert Grieve had 
been lately to the Break Me Easy, and was now 
on the Rirock River, farther west and north. 
He had been made to believe that the letter had 
been intercepted and opened, and that it had 
come into Dudy s hands by good chance. 

With his newly-got information, he made his 
way west and north. At the end of some days, 
after a hunt, he found his man in a camp on the 
Rirock River, And after a surprise and a play 
of pistols he brought down the murderer by a 
shot in the thigh, which gave him no chance of 
escape, though Wybert Grieve tried to stab him, 
when he stooped to bind him. 

"" No, you don't, honey ! " said Dudy Massaw, 
as he evaded the blade. " No, you don't, my 
man-killer I They'll cure you of that in the 
place to which I'm takin' ye." 

Then, with his man bound, he carried him to 
his wagon, which he had exchanged for his horse, 
and drove away south — none too soon, for 
Wybert (brieve's two friends, who camped with 
him, missing him, got on the track and rode 
many hours in chase ; but without avail. 

*' IVe got him safe and easy;" said Dudy 
Massaw, and made his way to A ska toon, where 
he delivered his man into the hands of the Sheriff 
and the Young Doctor. 

N Now you're going out to Bordinot's place, 
eh ': " the Yuung Doctor said, when Wybert 
Grieve was safely housed in jail. 

" Some such place," said Dudy Massaw, with 
a quizzical smile* 

" Good luck to you/' said the Young Doctor, 

"I'm hoping" was the reply. 

At tjie door where he had bade good-bye to 
J.ulie Bordinot a month before, he saw her again 
and alone, She knew by the look in his face 
that he had been successful. 

" You've got him ? " she said, with assurance 
in her voice. 

" He's in Askatoon with a bullet- wound," was 
the reply. HJ They'll hang him, " he added, firmly. 

Her face "clouded, her eyes closed for an 
instant. " It's horrible — oh, it is ! " she said. 

"' But he'll not spoil other homes," said Dudy 

" Is this one spoiled ? " she asked, with 
moisture in her eyes. 

1 Not so spoilt that we can t restore it — you 
and me, Julie/' he answered, and held out his 
arms to her with a storm of love in his eyes, 
l^or one instant she hesitated, and then, with a 
little cry, she slid into his arms. 

After a moment, when he raised her face 
from his breast to his lips, she said : — 

1 You've got all I can give, Dudy. I can't 
tell you " 

" There's naught to tell— I understand, 1 ' he 
said. " I was alone, and lonely too," 

*" Hii HELD OUT HIS ARMS TO HER WITH A STORM 'J&l&Cli^d: fifiC 1 IffllS EYES/' 






Relics of Life and Death Collected 
for the National War Museum. 




HERE is only one certain way in 
which the detail and the actual 
apparatus of this great war can 
be brought home to the majority 
of 11 the British people. It is by 
literally bringing it home. When 
yon see a section of Somme or 
Ypres— French, not a London- made imitation, 
Vol iv.-a 

but the real thing — the veritable mud and 
sand and corrugated iron and concrete, and 
the objects, be they trench-mortar or machine- 
gun or rifle, which a gallant deed has made 
memorable, or a flag or a drum which ha.n 
been sanctified by battle, there will be no excuse 
for posterity not knowing even the minuti& of 

this wax, Original fronn 





Up, to a few weeks ago an important pre- 
liminary collection of trophies was housed in a 
seminary in a picturesque town some miles 
behind the front, where it was known far and 
wide as the Army Museum. The curator was 
an old soldier,' assisted by two or three other 
soldiers temporarily invalided from the trenches, 
who took great pride in caring for and showing 
off each new trophy or relic as it came in fresh 
from the battle field. Who, indeed, could look 
unmoved on the battered Uniun Jack which 
a man of the London Kegiment flung to the 
breeze over shattered Gommecourt, that other 
which tile War wicks took into Peronne, the great 
flag which greeted 'our first di% T ision$ on their 
arrival that August day in Boulogne, the First 
Corps flag carried in the Mons retreat, the pennon 
of the heroic and ill-fated General John Cough, 
the liag that flew in the Citadel of Verdun through- 
out the bombardment of iqio, the Canadian flag 
that flew at Vimy and Passchcndacle (Fig. 2) — to 
mention but a few of these historic strips of 
coloured bunting, to honour and safeguard which 
brave men in all ages have been ready to risk 
'their lives ? 

There is here, too, the first Tank Corps flag r 
sanctified by battle, a frayed silken banner of 
brown, red, and green ; the first American flng 

to be hoisted on America's entry into the war on 
the Hotel de Villc, Paris ; the first Portuguese 
flag to be taken to the trenches; and the head* 
quarters flags of many British regiments in the 
fighting -line. Several German flags are to be 
seen ; one brought from Antwerp and used to 
decorate a Boc he-officers' mess at the Hotel de 
Ville, Pero nne, another - from a dug-out at 
Beaumont Hamel, and two others from Lens and 
Bapaume, besides several enemy pennons and 

Due gives, naturally, first place to these 
symbols; but to many the most striking and 
important objects are the captured guns, which 
are of all types, from the heavy howitzer to the 
small but deadly trench -mortar, and even the 
rifle grenade-th rower [^ranatenwerfer). One has 
now an opportunity of seeing the huge, ungainly, 
wooden minenwerfer known as the Albrecht- 
mortier, which vomits up a coal-scuttleful of 
high explosive* Many of these guns, like the 
dozens of enemy rifles, have special histories 
which are duly set forth on their labels, together 
with the names of the units which captured them 
at YprcSj or it may be the Somme or Arras, 

(Fig- 3) 

Here are shown two souvenirs of air- battles 
-in the form of the light machine-gun known as 

**WS llili OTIIEMH I* THtt HfcM VUM* rt-AU CAttKlUD IN THE WO 

by Google 

Original from 





the parabellum, and numerous Maxims and 
Lewises, whose condition tolls of fierce conflict. 

A whole chapter^ might be devoted to the 
examples of enemy ordnance ami equipment, 
each with a story 1 Take, for example, the suit 
of steel armour with which a gigantic Prussian 
unter-offizier sought to cleave his way into our 
trenches at Yimy and was killed for his pains, 
his body covered with over twenty wounds or 
the trench gong which sounded for one of our 
gas attacks before Monchy, and another gong 
which the Boche beat in vain in the trenches o£ 
Mouquet Farm. (Fig. 4J 

Of German bicycles many have been captured 
during the war; but It may be doubted if ever 
one fell into-our possession in such singular cir- 
cumstances as when in June last a German soldier 
was seen on the Menin Road, west of Hooge, 
mounted on a Berlin machine and advancing 
with difficulty towards our lines. The wonder 
of his feat was to escape from his own lines, 
to navigate the ruts and 
shell-holes, and to do so while 
making it clear to our aston 
ished troops that he intended 
to surrender. This meant 
riding with one arm in the 
air. As he drew near, es- 
caping shrapnel and sundry 
pot-shots, he flung up both 
hands, and yelling " Kame- 
rad ! M his machine toppled 
over and he disappeared in 
a ditch. He was found to 
be wounded and was carried 
into Ypres on his bicycle 
eventually, which is now 
in this collection of relics, 
(Hg, 5) 

A Boche wireless apparatus 
taken at Messines, an opera- 
tor being killed while actually 
sending off messages asking 
for supports, is also here— 
together with a volume from 
the enemy wireless station at 
Peronngj in which intercepted 
British messages are tran- 
scribed. There were a number 
of these volumes, but the 
Germans destroyed all but 
six. A few days after our 
troops entered Peroune in 
triumph. Major Willsoii, the 
Inspector of War Trophies, 
noticed a party of soldiers 
kindling a fire with a quan- 
tity of bound paper. He 
examined it and saw it was 
covered with German hand- 
writing. One thick volume 
was rescued — five others had 
gone up, alas, in smoke! 

German trench clubs arc of 

different patterns all capable 

of dealing a deadly blow. 

But one, in particular, has a 

flexible spring handle and a 

heavy steel head, which, when used at Yimy, 

slew several of our fellows before its wielder was 

felled by a bayonet thrust. (Fig. 6.) 

German officers carried their swords into 
action long after the practice became obsolete 
with us. There is a fine blade here with which 
an enemy colonel endeavoured to defend him- 
self at Courc lette, and afterwards presented to 
his captor. 

Bapaume Town Hall was blown up by means 
of a time fuse, but several devices were subse- 
quently found in the base of dwellings to show 
that the enemy had expended a great deal of 
devilish ingenuity in constructing or adopting 
clock-work to his schemes of wholesale destruc- 
tion. Several crude instruments were found, 
with yards of wire attached, leading to high 
explosives, and one of these is in the present 

Of our own things, a whole volume would not 
suffice to describe the story. There i$ one of the 



A number of trench gongs 



* , 




primitive catapults issued to the troops before 
the first Battle of Ypres, and here, too, is one 
of the spades which, close to the historic Chemin 
des Dames, at the Battle of the 
Aisne, helped to dig the first trench 
-in this great warfare of trenches. 
Every battle has yielded some 
striking or curious memorial, On 
one hand one sees a drum made 
famous by a gallant drummer at 
Loos, and on the other the carved 
oak table used by the Commander- 
in-Chief, Sir Douglas lfaig, 
throughout the great Battle of 
the Sornme* Upon it every order 
and report was signed, and around 
it sat in turn all the famous 
Generals engaged — I n c 1 u ding 
Marshal jo fire and General FocIl 

(M* 7 ) 

To a far humbler relic, and one 
of a different kind, many will be 
inclined to accord greater rever- 
ence. It hails from the famous 
windmill site at Poziercs, To the 
summit of this mound at day- 
break on August 5th, 19 io, a 
wounded soldier of the - - 
Anzacs dragged himself and stuck 
his bayonet surmounted by his 
hat. Close beside it he died, 
and his body was carried a short 
distance away and buried. But 
none removed the hat and 
bayonet, which remained there for 
days and throughout the enemy 
counter attack- It was finally dis- 
lodged by a shell, and reverently 


by Google 

brought into Albert as a memento of the battle, 

(Fig. g p ) 

When Combles was taken in the early hours 
of September 25th, 1916, a British 
soldier came upon a battered brass 
bale hi no amongst the ruins of 
Combles church. The purpose 
of this church altar ornament was 
not at first understood, and it 
was for a time hung up and 
beaten as a gas alarm until 
rescued by an English chaplain, 
at the entrance to whose dug- 
out it continued for some time, 
together with a carved wooden 
elhgy of the Virgin. 

On the evening before the cap- 
ture of Con reel ette, September 
1 5th, 1916, it was noticed that 
several of the (ierman trench 
searchlights wtue particularly 
active in and about the village. 
One near the entrance to the 
chateau was a frequent target 
for our guns. When the Canadians 
took the place this searchlight 
was seized, and during the next 
night was used to signal back to 
their supports. It remained in 
constant use during the succes- 
sive enemy counter-attacks until 
buried by a minenwerfer shell 
close to the chateau entrance on 
September 21st, Nearly a year 
later the searchlight was exhumed. 
Beside it was found the body of 
a Canadian soldier — the man who 
had last operated the instrument 

Original from 



which, when 
the mud was 
stripped from 
it, was found 
to be still in 
working order. 
In the fight- 
ing about 
1 rones Wood, 
in fuly, igib, 
;uid a p a i n 
about Thicp- 
val in the 
month, a 
sniper of the 
West Kent 
Regiment did 
splendid work 
behind a 
camou naged 
sniper's post. 
At the top of 
this was an 

iron frame, supporting a sand- bag, with a gauze 
protection for the eyes. By inserting his head 
in tht! franu\ and his rifle laid along the parapet, 




the sniper was 
most effectu- 
ally concealed. 
It is claimed 
that some 
eighty Ger- 
mans were 
" potted" in 
two days by 
this method. 

The wearer 
of another 
helmet at 
Ovillers and 
Bazentin - le - 
Grand lay in 
an entrenched 
his headgear 
having the re- 
semblance to 
a clod of red 
Sommc earth. 
(Fig, u) He 

Succeeded in killing many Germans* 

Woven glass was extensively used by the 

enemy in their dug-outs throughout the Sorame 






THE S'l 

, n .| iiti 


Original from 




wire-cutters, and axes from a 
hundred battle-fields of this 
war. There are also to be 
seen specimens of German 
body armour and helmets 
(Ft£- 10) ; a copy of the 
Hymn of Hate, found in the 
trenches (Fig. 12) ; and some 
interesting examples of Ger- 
man patriotic colour prints 
(Fig. 11). 

Hu£, although the Eoche 
has contributed so much — 
i it vol ii 11 taii ] y — to th is War 
Museum, the cardinal interest 
somehow centres about the 
things other than weapons 
and accoutrements of war. 
There are the enemy procla- 
mations on the walls, enemy 
prints depicting our soldiers 
and their battles, enemy maps 
captured in their trenches and 
often stained with their blood, 
German officers' note- books 
and sketch-books — yet *it is 

not upon these that the imagination is 
riveted. It is rather upon the scores of 
wooden trench-signs famous to tens of 
thousands of our soldiers in the Somme, 
the Arras region, or the Ypres salient. 
(Fig. !■} 

These once pointed the way to victory 
or death. There is "Alametz and 
Beyond/' from Devils Wood, where so 
many gallant fellows went — beyond ; 
(1 Gommecourt Fork,' ' " Brighton House/' 
from Crucifix Corner ; " Suicide Corner," 
from Kemmel ; " loth Street," from 
CourceJette; "Heart's Delight," from 
the Newfoundland trenches ; hl Mouquet 
Farm," and many Piccadillys and Regent 
Streets. On one we are told that the 
" Wind is Dangerous," on another to 
" Keep to the* Trench in Daylight.*' 
Here are tl,e blue enamel street signs 
from Ypres. As to German signs, the 
most notable is the egregious " Nicht 
Argem nur Wundern," from the wrecked 
Town HaU of Peronne ; there is a " Nach 
Yimy " r and a ,H Nach Grevillers/' on 
which one of our men afterwards in- 
scribed : " This road is for aeroplane 
only/' There is a signboard " Soldaten 

^>a0gcfang gcgen <£n<jlanb. 

*&>a& febierf uns 3Rufio unbfraiftor* 
Sdjuft xx>\bct Sd>uft unb &io$ urn &ic$. 
32>ir liebon fie nid?f t toir baffrn jk nid>t f 
miv febutsen tOeicbfcl un& ^as<wupafr, - 
to>ir \>abcr\ nur eincn cimiqen £)aix 
*$0\t lieben VQVQmL \d\v baflen uercint, 
totu baben nur eineti ein^QCn Ireinb, 
ben ibr all? tm% ben ibr allc voi$U 
(f r fiftf geftudH binter ber srauati f luu 
ooli 5Icib, poll ¥&uU i>oII &d)lfiuG, Doll iiift. 
burd> Rafter fletrennt, &ic finb biciPcr "al$ c OluL 

*2£>iv tt>ollcn trefen in cin (Scrid>t, 

cinen 6d>ti>ur ^u fcbtDoren. ©efKbf in ©cficbt. 

<?incn <Sdtfrur Don (£rv bcit t>erht£ift PcuiSOittb, 

omen ftdjtnur fiir Stinb tmb ftir SmbcePinJ), 

txrnelnnf bas^orL faqf nach basYDort, 

e* malve fid? burcb flan} ^cutfcblanb fort: 

"iOir toollcn nid)t laffen Don unferm $?ap, 

tt>ir (xibon allc nur <?inen f)a$, 

roir lie ban rcreint, \n\v baficn ucroinu 

toir baben allc nur cincn Jeinb: 









Helm," from a German canteen near Nesle. 
When we captured this place a prisoners' cage 
was set up and some wag transferred the 
" Soldiers' Home J> hither — much to the indig- 
nation of a fat German colonel, who denounced 
the joke as an outrage. 

Then there are the trophies generously pre- 
sented to the Museum by our French comrades- 
in-arms^ There is the first German trench- 
mortar captured in the brilliant counter-attack 
at Verdun, there is a French flag from the 
Citadel, and three notable Proclamations signed 
by General Petain himself. This iron sign, ,h To 
Verdun, one kilometre," stood at the cross- rqads, 

strongholds {Fig* 13), and the very miniature 
houses and trees are fragments of Vimy brick 
and timber, So of Messines and Thiepval — all 
exactly to scale. 

One should mention some special souvenirs of 
the Tanks, especially those veterans of the 
Somme Battle a year and a half ago — the 
" Creme de Menthe " and "Cordon Rouge/' 
And there are numerous fascinating trophies 
of the Royal Flying Corps. 

Altogether, one recognizes after seeing it that 
the British Army has done well in rescuing these 
striking memorials from the battle-field. It is a 
curious thing that the soldier himself is the one 



and was precipitated to earth by a German 
shell. Here is the plaque from the Citadel, 
painted by order of- the Command ant—" On 
ne passe pus/' together with the Verdun medal 
and the signed document bestowing it. Nor 
must we forget the seven signed Ordres du 
Jour of Marshal Joffre relative' to the British 
Army, presented by the great soldier to the 

Realistic models of the battle-fields here dis- 
played have one further peculiarity — they are 
actually constructed from local materials. A 
model of Vimy Ridge is made from the very 
grey soil of the famous ridge, the tiny concrete 
emplacements are fragments of the Bocae 

most interested in the trophies and souvenirs 
of war. He is the first to marvel at a curiously- 
shaped weapon or implement, or a relic of a 
valorous deed. Moreover, objects familiar in 
one sector are strange to another. 

Now that this collection has come to London 
it will certainly a fiord a more direct and intimate 
glimpse than even the reams of newspaper and 
official despatches, the kindliness and the 
ferocity, the poetry and the brutality, the 
humour and the tragedy of war ; and P too, all 
those thousand little unrecorded acts which 
made, and N alas ! still make, up for millions of 
Britons the daily life in the trenches and billets 
of France and Flanders* 

by Google 

Original from 



Illustrated by Dudley Tennant. 

HORTLY after Mendoza had 
entered into possession of that 
tiny house in Swan Walk, 
Chelsea, which for two or 
three years was his London 
home, the Maddison Domestic 
Thesaurus Corporation of 
Cleveland, Ohio, asked him to design a poster 
for it, to be used in the colossal campaign of 
advertisement by means of which it proposed 
to drive all British makers of safes into the 
Bankruptcy Court and place at its mercy 
every British householder who should, in 
future, find himself in need of a burglar- 
propf and private lock-up for his valuables. 
Mendoza being perfectly willing to further 
this laudable project upon the terms which 
were offered him, the matter was quickly 
settled, and a day or two later a magnificent 
dark green safe with* brilliant brass embellish- 
ments was unloaded at his door, carried by- 
strong men into his dining-room, and deposited 
in the corner by the window. The Maddison 
Domestic Thesaurus Corporation was a 
bloated and ruthless corporation, but (or, 
perhaps, because) it did its . business in a 
large and generous way. And so you are 
to understand that, while Mendoza had 
id for nothing but the loan of a model 
his picture, the corporation had met 
request by a presentation. u No," 
Abbott, the manager of its London 
ich, had said — " no, Signor Mendoza, we 
f t do things that way, believe me. It 
be a very real pleasure to us to know 
; we're taking care of the jewellery of 
wife of the gentleman whose Art will 
* helped us to scalp all these old dodos 

who profess to build safes on this side ; and 
we shall consider that pleasure real cheap 
at the cost of one of our very newest and 
best Thesauri. I will send a man along to 
your home this afternoon, and I shall be 
grateful if you will tell him what precise 
shade of what exact colour you wish it 
painted, so as it may harmonize perfectly 
with its future surroundings. For, take it 
from me, my dear Signor Mendoza, when that, 
Thesaurus comes into your house, it cornea 
to stay." 

Though Mendoza had no wife and no 
jewellery and no conceivable use for a safe, 
he could not summon up the courage to 
decline a present thus handsomely and 
imperiously inflicted upon him ; and so it 
came to pass as Mr. Abbott had predicted. 
The safe arrived and it stayed. Mendoza 
amused himself for a half-hour or so in learn- 
ing, from the book of instructions, how to 
do the two varieties of Chinese puzzle which 
opened and locked the thing ; and then he 
lost all interest in it, save that which it 
held for him as a model. He locked it up 
for thelast time, put the key in a pot on the 
chimney-piece, stretched a piece of paper, 
and sat down to make a rough sketch for 
his poster. 

Mendoza was only one of a small army of 
people whom the Maddison Domestic The- 
saurus Corporation was employing in its 
^ssault upon the British safe-making industry, 
and the reproductions of his poster which 
were to appear upon all the hoardings and 
blank walls of England, Scotland, Wales, 
and Ireland may be described as but one 
species among a countless variety of high- 




explosive shells with which the invader 
proposed to batter down the obsolete defences 
of his effete and superannuated rivals. Many 
other artists had been enlisted under the 
American flag, and there was besides a whole 
host of writing-people and advertising agents 
and canvassers and other energetic persons 
of the sort. But we are not here concerned 
with these activities. It is for the history 
alone of Mendoza's poster that J desire to 
engage your sympathies. 

This picture represented — it could not 
very well , do otherwise — the defeat of a 
burglar by one of Mr. Abbott's impenetrable 

Mendoza's cracksman was a man of rather 
more than middle age. Thus was indicated 
the person of experience, the virtuoso, the 
perfect master of his profession, whom to 
baffle was a task for no ordinary Thesaurus. 
Again, he was none of your low-browed, 
broken-nosed, square-jawed Bill Sikes in 
moleskins, with a life-preserver sticking out 
of one pocket and the butt of a revolver 
sticking out of the other. Such a type 
would be a foe hardly worthy of the Maddison 
Domestic Thesaurus Corporation's steel- 

No, the criminal whom Mendoza had 
imagined was a most decent-looking character, 
with a domed, philosophical brow, large spec- 
tacles, and a keen, intellectual face, to which a 
pair of mutton-chop whiskers added the last 
refinement of respectability. In his hands was 
no vulgar jemmy, but a complicated chemical 
apparatus, which emitted a fierce little jet of 
white flame. He was seated on the floor 
beside a superb green Thesaurus, the paint 
of which had, to be sure, yielded to the 
application of his instrument, but which 
remained otherwise as intact as on the day 
when it had issued from its native manufactory. 
Upon the burglar's face was an expression of 
profound despair, and under the composition 
was the legend, " Foiled at Last." These 
words, I may say ; were the choice of 
Mr. Abbott. 

Mendoza was satisfied with his design, 
but no more. This was the kind of job which 
he was quite ready to undertake, at a price ; 
but the advertisements that he was always 
being commissioned to do seldom yielded 
him any extraordinary pleasure, for upon such 
work his genius was always, necessarily, 
hampered by commercial considerations. But, 
for what it was, he decided that it was pretty 
good, and he sent it off to Mr. Abbott without 
any fear that he had not properly earned his 
money. Then he dismissed the whole matter 

Digitized by G»< 

from his thoughts and turned his attention 
to other things. 
> He was justified in his confidence. Mr. 
Abbott wrote enthusiastically about the 
poster, and indeed he had good reason to 
do so, for the thing was to the last degree 
arresting and provocative of comment, with 
its bold spaces of bright green and black 
and. white, its very unusual burglar, and his 
very remarkable safe-breaking tool. 

Time passed and one day Mendoza's 
burglar was, suddenly, everywhere to be 
seen. At once he was rolling his desperate 
eyes over the streets of every town in the 
British Islands. The news of his defeat at 
the hands of the Maddison Domestic The- 
saurus Corporation became public property 
simultaneously everywhere between Penzance 
and Thurso, Lowestoft and Valentia. 

It was a colossal triumph of Transatlantic? 

Two days later Mendoza received the 
following letter : — 

Skinners* Inn. 

Dear Sir, — Our client, Mr. Robertson Jeffrey, 
of Streatham, has directed our attention to youf 
poster design which has lately been issued and placed 
upon the hoardings of the United Kingdom by the 
Maddison Domestic Thesaurus Company. Mr. Jeffrey 
is unable to conceive your object in thus pillorying 
him in the character of a burglar, nor can he imagine 
how — since he has not the honour of your* acquaint - 
ance-ryou have succeeded in producing a likeness of 
him so entirely unmistakable. But that is not his 

Since, however, he is a gentleman of spotless 
reputation, a deacon of his Congregational church, 
and the superintendent of its band of hope, a member 
. of the local vigilance association, a vestryman of ten 
years' standing, and honorary treasurer of the Streat- 
nam Vale branch of the Society for the Discouragement 
of Crime, he feels that his duty to himself imperatively 
demands that this unprovoked and heartless libel 
should be punished and that in an exemplary fashion. 

He has therefore instructed us to issue writs 
against yourself, the Maddison Domestic Thesaurus 
Corporation, the printers of the poster, and all * the 
firms of bill-stickers who have placed it on the walls 
and hoardings of the Metropolis and other cities and 
towns of the United Kingdom. He has also directed 
us to apply for an injunction against the further use 
of the poster ; but this is probably a matter of no 
interest to yourself. 

We shall be happy to hear from you whether, and 
if so where and when, you will accept service of the 
writ, or with the name of your solicitors, should you 
prefer that we should serve it upon them. 

We are, dear sir, yours truly, 

Benjamin, Benjamin, and Benjamin. 

Mendoza forced himself to finish his break- 
fast, and then repaired to the office of his 
friend, Frederick Wetherby, junior partner 
of that well-known firm of West-end solicitors 
Cmmpton and Co. 

Wetherby, when he had read the letter of 
Messrs. Benjamin, said : u I needn't ask if 




you have ever seen this Mr. Jeffrey or heard 
of him before in your life ? " 

" You needn't," said Mendoza. " It is 
pretty obvious, isn't it ? " 

" Yes/ 1 said Wetherby ; u you mean that 
the mer$ fact of your having drawn him as a 
burglar in this way proves conclusively that 
this resemblance of which he complains is 
an accident. Unfortunately such a proof 
won't help you very much in a court of law. 
Mr. Jeffrey's got you on the hip, my poor 
bloke — that is to say, if he can establish this 
likeness ; and if he couldn't you'd never 
have got this letter. These Benjamins are 
pretty wideawake people, but they're not 
blackmailers. Mr. Jeffrey's case is certainly 
a good one. I can only advise you to throw 
up your hands and let me make the best 
terms I may for you. It'll save you a world 
of trouble and extra expense." 

" Don't you think, Freddie," said Mendoza, 
" that we'd better, perhaps, first go along 
and see what these Maddison people have to 
say about it ? " 

Wetherby agreed, and they went to the 
offices (4 the Maddison Domestic Thesaurus 

•'•'Well, gentlemen," said Mrr Abbott, 
solemnly, after the introduction had been 
made by Mendoza, li this is a very pretty 
little affair, don't you think ? Of .course I 
don't even ask Signor Mendoza if there's 
anything in the claim of this Mr. Jeffrey. 
The likeness is, of course, a pure accident. 
But it's quite undeniable. Look at this," 
and he laid before them a photograph. lC That," 
he said, " is Mr. Jeffrey. Messrs. Benjamin 
enclosed it in their letter to us. The original 
poster, Mr. Wetherby, is on the wall behind 

Mendoza and Wetherby looked from the 
photograph to the poster and from the pbster 
to the photograph, but they might look till 
their eyes dropped out and they could dis- 
cover nothing which' did not confirm the 
likeness between the two. 

Photograph and poster must, to any 
ordinary eye, appear to have had the same 

" Was there ever such a bit of bad luck ? " 
said Mendoza. "If the man had sat to me 
I couldn't have made that burglar more 
like him. Mr. Wetherby," he added, " ad- 
vises me to settle. * I suppose you will do 
the same? We stand no chance at all, it 

" Settle ! " cried Mr*. Abbott. " Settle a 
case that will be discussed in every town 
throughout the length and breadth of the 

British Islands ! Take down our half a million 
of posters before the country has had a chance 
to talk about them ! My very dear sirs ! 
Let me tell you that the Maddison Domestic 
Thesaurus Corporation is going to fight this 
injunction to the House of Lords. By that 
time, however it goes, the existence of my 
company and its goods will have been rubbed, 
don't you think, pretty thoroughly into the 
consciousness of the British nation. And 
then there will be the libel actions, with 
every bill-sticker in the four countries a 
defendant. Hully Gee ! I tell you, gentle- 
men, that my only regret in this whole 
affair is that this <Mr. Jeffrey's apearance on 
the scene is not due to my own forethought. 
I tell you, gentlemen, that till this moment I 
believed myself to be possessed of a sort of 
gift for procuring publicity, but by the side 
of Madame Chance I don't know enough 
to come in out of the rain. No, sir T No, 
Signer Mendoza ! You are not going to 
settle. You are going to fight, sir, and the 
Maddison Domestic Thesaurus Corporation 
is going to fight alongside of you. Have 
no tear of the consequences to yourself. 
The whole resources of the Maddison Domestic 
Thesaurus Corporation are behind this war; 
and if this Mr. Jeffrey — this gift of heaven 
— should happen to win a paltry ten or 
twenty thousand dollars' damages from yoji, 
why ! it is the Maddison Domestic Thesaurus 
Corporation that is going to see you through." 

Messrs. Benjamin had, in their letter to 
Mendoza, rather under than over-estimated 
their client's respectability. When the in- 
junction case came on lor trial Mr. Robertson 
Jeffrey produced affidavits sworn by himself 
and a perfect cloud of unimpeachable wit- 
nesses to prove his moral superiority to the 
rest of mankind. It transpired that over and 
above the Congregational deaconship and 
other worthy offices which Messrs. Benjamin 
had mentioned, he held the honorary treasurer- 
ship of a slum mission-hall and the honorary 
secretaryships of at least four charitable 
committees. He was a subscriber to several 
hospitals, guarantor of a lads' club, president 
of a branch of the Foresters, and past wor- 
shipful master of a lodge of Freemasons. 
He was also, it was shown, an amateur 
investigator in chemistry and physics, with 
a considerable reputation among the people 
who follow those branches of learning. 

This illustrious man, to continue, appeared 
in court and was there compared with Men- 
doza's poster. His lordship observed that 
the likeness was remarkable — very. 

Six expensive barristers did their best for 




the Maddison Domestic Thesaurus Corpora- 
tion and others f but in vain. His lordship 
granted the injunction j thereby laying upon 
the Maddison Domestic Thesaurus Corporation 
the obligation of causing its half 'million 
posters to be removed from the walls and 
hoardings of the J British Islands. 

The Maddison Domestic Thesaurus Corpo- 




rati jt and others T by the lips and voice of 
Sir Horace liloodgood, K.C., M.P., gave 
notice ot appeal. 

So terminated this preliminary skirmish 
of the opposing forces. 

The British Islands now began to buzz 

with the names of Mr, Robertson Jeffrey, 
the Maddison Domestic Thesaurus Corpora- 
tion, and Mendoza. Soon there was hardly 
a British eye which had not rested curiously 
upon Mendoza's poster, hardly a British 
tongue wlidi Cum] uu*1 learned to pronounce 



the name of the American company. Within 
a week at least thirty writers of music-hall 
songs had prepared facetious ditties which 
had for their refrain those jemarkable words, 
" Foiled at Last/' in anticipation of the day 
when the cause of Jeffrey v. The Maddison 
Domestic Thesaurus Corporation and others 
should no longer be sub judice. Meanwhile 
" Foiled at Last " became a household phrase. 

Mr. Abbott was enchanted. Had the 
injunction been refused he must have cut his 
throat. Instead, he got, in the company of 
two of his junior counsel, his own solicitor, 
Wetherby, and Mendoza, slightly drunk. 

This party began at the Cafe Royal, was 
continued at Mr. Abbott's club, and was 
concluded in Mr. Abbott's Knightsbridge 
flat, Mendoza did not get away~until after 
three in the morning. He and Wetherby 
walked down Sloane Street together to 
Wetherby's house in Sloane Gardens ; and 
then Mendoza went on to Swan Walk alone. 
When, finally, he passed through his garden 
gate it was ten minutes to four and a dark, 
foggy morning. 

He put his hand into his pocket and dis- 
covered that he had not brought his latch- 
key out with him. 

Now Mendoza was a kind-hearted creature, 
and the annoyance which this discovery 
occasioned him was entirely due to his unwill- 
ingness to disturb the slumbers of his small 
domestic staff and cause one of them to leave 
his or her warns bed and come down through 
the cold house to let him in. For himself 
it was nothing to stand on the doorstep for 
a few iiiinutea; but for Mrs. Bond, his 
housekeeper, or Ellen, his parlourmaid, or 
Anfitrion, his valet, such a resurrection and 
descent must be horrible. 

" I wonder,'! he thought, " if I can open 
a window anywhere." 

Yes, he had his penknife. 

He went quietly over the grass of the 
lawn to the side of the house where was the 
French window of the dining-room. The 
intention to commit a burglary, even if 
it is of his own establishment, inevitably 
induces caution in a man's movements, and 
Mendoza went along like a cat. But, as he 
approached the window, it was like a shadow 
that he moved, for a thin ray of subdued 
light had flashed for a moment between its 
slightly-open wings, and to his ears there 
Kad come the sound of a man's stifled curse. 

Mendoza's hand went behind him and 
next moment a tiny revolver was in it. 
During a long experience of nocturnal Paris 
he had* acquired the habit of carrying this 

weapon, a habit of which he had never been 
- able to gain sufficient confidence in the police 
of London to break himself. Now this 
unlawful conduct was to find its justification. 
His other hand descended into the pocket 
of his overcoat and emerged holding an 
electric torch. 

Then softly, softly, he stole up to the 
window and laid an eye to the chink. This 
is what he saw. 

Vague against the dark background of the 
room, a man knelt on the floor beside the 
safe, which was open. Its door concealed 
his head, but the back of his neck was visible, 
through a large round hole, which showed 
where the locks had been cut out from the 
heavy steel. In one hand he held an electric 
torch and by its light he was exploring the 
interior. On the floor, beside his feet, lay 
an apparatus not 'unlike that with which 
Mendoza had equipped the burglar of his 
poster. It comprised, among other things, 
a small steel cylinder and a flexible pipe with 
a sharp metal nozzle. 

Mtendoza wasted no time. He slipped the 
barrels of his revolver and his torch through 
the window and said : "I have you covered. 
Put up your hands. * High." 

The man gave a slight start, but obeyed 
at once. His hands rose, with grotesque 
effect, above the door of the safe. At the 
same moment his torch went out. But 
Mendoza's continued to burn brightly. 

" I have one "myself, you see," he said as, 
with a finger, he widened the opening of 
the window until he could get his knee into 
it. " And now," he went on, pressing the 
wings apart and stepping into the room, 
" let Y have a look at you." 

Upon this the man', with admirable docility, 
raised his head above the door of the safe, 
Mendoza's eyes grew large. 

u Carramba ! " he said. u Carramba ! " 

Philosophical brow, spectacles, mutton- 
chop whiskers, and all, the grossly injured 
plaintiff in the case of Jeffrey v. The Maddison 
Domestic Thesaurus Corporation and others 
was before him ! 

To his exclamation there succeeded a short 
but pregnant silence, during which Mendoza 
continued to stare at Mr. Jeffrey while Mr. 
Jeffrey, his hands in the air, blinked mildly 
through his spectacles into the vivid beam 
of the torch. His face was composed. No 
trace of shame or rage or any other emotion 
convulsed it. Only a faint astonishment was 
discoverable there. 

He looked just as some innocent elderly 
enthusiast might have looked whose absorption 






HIGH/ " 



jn his collection of butterflies or postage- 
stamps should suddenly have been broken. 

" Admirable, Mr. Jeffrey/' said Mendoza ; 
" were this matter only between ourselves, 
I swear that I would let you go. For your^ 
nerve is surely the most .colossal that has yet' 
been witnessed upon earth, and you excite 
my sympathies enormously. You have a 
sense of humour that I cannot but respects 
Yet I may not let you go. This is obviously 
not your first safe, and I must, as a responsible 
citizen, see to it that it is your last for some 
years to come. But what do you suppose 
they will say in Streatham, Mr. Jeffrey ? " 

" Why, my dear sir/' said the other, " they 
must, of course, say what they please. But 
from what I know of the canting fools, it, 
will not .savour too much of charity. And 
now, do you not think you had better tie 
my hands behind my back without more 
ade ? For a man of my years, it is rather 
troublesome, to hold his arms in the air for 
very long at a time, as Moses, you may 
remember, discovered long ago." 

** Delighted to oblige, Mr. Jeffrey," said 
Mendoza. "Stand up, please. Turn your 
back to mCj lower your hands behind you. 
Cross your wrists. So ! And now stand 
.perfectly still. I will not answer for the con- 
sequences of a movement on your part. 
May I trouble you for your handkerchief? 
Thank you." 

He twitched out the silk handkerchief 
which protruded so conveniently from Mr. 
Jeffrey's sleeve, made a slip-knot in it, 
and next moment its owner's hands were 

" Now," he said, " sit down in that chair, 
if you will be so good." Mr. Jeffrey obeyed. 
Mendpza turned on a light by the fireplace. 
" With your permission," he said, " I will 
have a whisky-and-soda. I have never before 
caught a burglar, and the experience, I find, 
has taken it out of me a little. May I mix 
one for you, Mr. Jeffrey ? I shall be delighted 
to hold it for you." 

" Not for me, thank you," said Mr. Jeffrey. 
" I have been a teetotaller all my life. In 
my business it is wonderfully advantageous 
to be a teetotaller." 

" You smoke, at least ? A cigar, Mr. 
Jeffrey ? " 

" Thank you," said Mr. Jeffrey; " I should 
enjoy a cigar." 

Mendoza cut a long Corona and placed 
it between his guest's teeth, held a match 
to it, and Mr. Jeffrey was accommodated. 

Mendoza mixed a whisky-and-soda and sat 
down. /~* 

Digitized by L^OOgle 

" I want to tell you," he said, " that 
I am very sorry that this has happened. I 
would much rather have come home to find 
you gone. But as it is, you see yourself 
that I have no choice in the njatter. It is 
one thing to admire a man's sense of humour, 
but it is another to betray that Society with- 
out whose protection one's life would be that 
of a beast in a jungle." 

" Quite so," said Mr. Jeffrey. " I'm not 
blaming you in the least. I'm only blaming 
myself for being such a fool. It's ten years 
since I did anything of this kind, and I might 
have known that to start it again would 
prove rather too strong a temptation to 
Providence. , When I was a young man, Mr. 
Mendoza, I was very successful in this line 
of business. I made altogether between 
fifty and sixty thousand pounds at it. And 
I was never caught — not once. And I never 
came across a safe that I couldn't open. 
That was my undoing. The challenge of 
that poster of yours was more than I could 
resist. And as it came out in court that the 
safe in your poster had been drawn from one 
which the Maddison Corporation had given 
to you — why, there was simply nothing else 
for it. Yours was the Maddison Domestic 
Thesaurus that had to be opened, obviously." 

11 Obviously," said Mendoza. " And opened 
it was." 

" Yes," said Mr. Jeffrey, with a smile ; 
" that will always be a comfortable thought 
for me, even though this safe of yours was 
the emptiest I ever had to do with ; but if 
you'd interrupted me three minutes earlier 
I should not have had #uite such complete 
satisfaction. For, of course, I should have 
known that I could have finished the job. 
Nothing can stand against that gas of mine. 
I invented it myself, long ago, and I've never 
given the secret away. The flame cuts 
through any steel like cheese. A beautiful 
little apparatus, Mr. Mendoza. Just that 
small cylinder of compressed gas — you can 
carry it in your overcoat pocket — and a 
yard or two of flexible pipe. That's all. 
But it's an Open Sesame, if ever there was 
one. It's done the business of precisely four 
hundred and thirty-three unbreakable safes. 
And, by the way, this won't be a very good 
advertisement for the Maddison Domestic 
Thesaurus Corporation, will it ? They won't 
be very grateful to you, Mr. Mendoza, I'm 

" I can't help that," said Mendoza. " They 
are a company and, having no conscience, 
they would probably be quite happy to 
compound your felony on the terms of your 


4 8 


abandoning your actions ; but I am a private 
citizen and Ihave to do my duty." 

" Yes/' said Mr. Jeffrey, as he puffed 
reflectively at his cigar. "Yes, I'm not 
blaming you. But, Mr. ^tendoza," he went 
,on ; after a short pause, " though I don't 
dream of asking you to let me" off, there's one 
favour that I would like you to grant me." 

" What's that ? " Mendoza asked. 

" Why, simply this.. Supposing things 
should so fall out s that you found yourself 
able to keep silence about what has happened 
in this room to-night, would you do so ? " 

" I don't understand," said Mendoza. 
" How could they ? " 

" I don't say they could or that they 
couldn't. But if they did ? You see," he 
went on, " it's about my wife that I'm think- 
ing. Thank God I haven't any children. 
She knows nothing about how I made my 
money. I accounted for my occasional 
absences from home at night by telling her 
that I was attending the meeting of some 
scientific society, or that I had a temperance 
address to make somewhere. She is a very 
simple woman and a very good one, and this 
will certainly kill her. And so, if it shatdd 
happen that you finchyourself able to keep 
silence " 

"Well," said Mendoza, " I don't mind 
promising you that. But I don't see " 

" No," said Mr. Jeffrey, " perhaps you 
don't. It's only in case. Then I've your 
promise ? " 

" You have, if it's any good to you." 

Mr. Jeffrey heaved a sigh of relief. " Thank 
you," he said. " That's all I ask. And now, 
shall we be moving along to the police- 
station, Mr. Mendoza ? " 

Mendoza also sighed. " I suppose so," 
he said, as he got up. -l Come along." 

" Age before honesty, I presume," said 
Mr. Jeffrey, with a little laugh. He' rose 
and preceded Mendoza to the window, cigar 
in mouth and hands fastened behind his back. 
They passed through the garden into Swan 

The house was at the Embankment end 
of the street and Mr. Jeffrey turned at once 
in the direction of the river. " There's a 
constable at the bridge," he said. " He'll 
take me over from you and then you can put 
your revolver away. I don't like those things 
at all. I never carried one. They're apt to 
go off when you don't mean them to." 

" Oh," said Mendoza, " if it inconveniences 
you " and he put the thing in his pocket. 

<c Thank you," said Mr. Jeffrey, " you're 
very obliging." At the same time he thrust 

Digitized hyXii 

out a foot in front of Mendoza, who tripped, 
stumbled, and fell sprawling on the pavement. 

He was- up again in a second, but Mr. 
Jeffrey had the start of him. For so old a 
man— indeed, for anybody whose hands were 
tied behind him — he moved with prodigious 
speed. ' Mendoza was pretty quick on his 
feet, but the course they ran was a short 
one, and Mr. Jeffrey beat him to his goal by 
a couple of yardsr That goal was the wall 
of the Embankment. 

Mendoza s&w him leap high in the air, 
land on the top, and, without a second's 
pause, spring outwards. He uttered no 
cry. He simply disappeared. 

Mendoza, reaching the wall, thrust his 
head over into the murky blackness. A few 
yards below him the swollen river, just at 
the beginning of the ebb, swung chuckling 
down to the sea. He snatched his torch 
from his pocket and, running with the stream, 
threw a ray over the water. Something 
down there rolled once heavily to the surface. 
He saw a white face, eyes that glared through 
shining spectacles. And then the water 
closed finally over that which it had taken 
to itself. 

Thus it came about that Mendoza was 
privileged some days later to read in the 
columns of the Evening Wire that which 
follows : — 

An inquest was held this afternoon upon the body 
of Mr. Robertson Jeffrey, late of Streatham, which, 
it will be remembered, was found by* some boys floating 
in the Thames off Rotherhithe. The deceased gentle- 
man was the plaintiff in the remarkable case of Jeffrey 
v. The Maddison Domestic Thesaurus Corporation 
(of Cleveland, Ohio) and others, which was lately 
reported in these columns. It will be recalled that 
a poster which this company had issued represented 
a burglar in the act of endeavouring to open a safe, 
and that, by a remarkable coincidence, the features 
of this burglar were identical with those of Mr. Jeffrey. 

Mr. Jeffrey was a gentleman of property, a man of 
unblemished character, a scientist of wide reputation, 
a person, lastly, who, during his whole life, had been 
actively engaged in works of a religious* and charitable 

It is supposed that the reflection upon himself 
which the Maddison Domestic Tl esaurus Corpora- 
tion's poster thus occasioned must have preyed upon 
the unfortunate gentleman's mind to such an extent 
that he was at last driven to self-destruction ; he 
appears to have secured his hands behind his back 
with his own handkerchief, first tied in a slip-knot, 
then drawn tight, and finally knotted and reknotted 
until it was impossible for him to release them (a feat 
which is not so difficult as it may perhaps at first seem), 
and then to have thrown himself, thus incapacitated 
from making any effort to escape death, into the river. 

This afternoon the coroner's jury returned a verdict 
of suicide whilst of unsound mind. 

Mr. Jeffrey leaves a widow, vith whom general 
sympathy must be felt. 

The Maddisoa Domestic Thesaurus Corporation, 




with that strong generosity 
which characterizes all its 
dealings, has undertaken to 
suppress the poster whose 
publication has la ad So 
tragic an issue. The appeal 
and the libel actions pending 
as a result of such pub- 
lication have accordingly al 
been abandoned. 

The Maddison Domes tic 
Thesaurus Corporation 
desires to express its un- 
bounded regret that an 
action, on its part wholly 
innocent, should have ted 
to so terrible a disaster- 

But as the Premier Safe- 
Making Company of ihe 
World, the Maddison Don its 
tie Thesaurus Corporation 
Scorns to be satisfied with 
a mere expression of regret. 

It has therefore presented the widow of Mr. Jeffrey 
with five thousand pounds of its ordinary stock, 
in the hope that this attempt at making com- 
pensation to her for the sad loss which she has 
sustained may do something towards softening lnr 
resentment against the Maddisun Domestic 
Thesaurus Corporation tor what i> 3 after all, a 

purely accidental injury, 
however terrible a one it 
may be. 

There is something tar^e 
ami fine and American about 
such conduct on the part 
of the Maddison Domestic 
Thesaurus Co rpo ration, and 
the British public will, we 
doubt not , properly appre- 
ciate it. 

It is interesting also to 
note that henceforward every 
advance in the prosperity 
of the Maddison Domestic 
Thesaurus Corporation will 
be reflected instantaneously 
in the improved cir- 
cumstances oi the 
widow of Mr, Robertson 

" So it will," said 
Mendoza to him- 
self, with a grin, 
" Now, I wonder 
what the insertion 
of tills half-column 
tost my friend Mr. 
Abbott ? n 





VoK H.- 


iginal from 

m m 

A,D, 2017, PREPARA'I' 



TLe C 

A few years 

become the d 


ve hs 

Original from 



first reason. But let me give o*e or two illus- 
trations of the great superiority of flying in 
point of speed. We have practical machines 
to-day which will easily do over a hundred miles 
an hour, travelling, you must remember, from 
point to point as the crow flies, which neither 
railway trains nor motor-cars can do. Let us 
assume a flying speed, however, of only eighty 
miles an hour. This brings Paris within three 
hours of London, as compared with seven or 
eight by train ; Rome, twelve and a half hours, 
as compared with forty- two ; Marseilles, eight 
hours, as compared with twenty-three, and so on. 
T\ew York becomes two days' distance from 
London, Ceylon two and three-quarter days, 
Vancouver three days, Cape Town three and a 
half days, Tokio four and a half days, and 
Sydney five days. 

" As to the second point — safety. There is 
an element of danger, of course, in all forms of 
trammelling, whether by lift, motor-car, or railway 
train. It is my opinion that flying, under 
proper conditions and with proper safeguards, 
need not be specially dangerous. Of course/ 
in the early days of flying there were many 
fatalities, just as there were in the early days of 
motoring. If you eliminate casualties due to 
dangerous machines, inexperienced or reckless 

pilots, trick flying, etc., the balance of unavoid- 
able accidents is not so great as to justify the 
idea that flying is necessarily dangerous to 
an extent that other forms of locomotion are 

" Of course, before people generally could 
travel by air certain arrangements would have 
to be made to provide against such contingen- 
cies as storms and fogs. My own idea is that 
it will be necessary to have landing places say 
at ten miles apart, so that in the event of storms 
or fogs suddenly arising a pilot will always be 
able to land without mishap. With search- 
lights at every ten miles the difficulty of night 
flying will also be overcome. As regards sea- 
passages, we might have ships, not necessarily 
anchored, but always cruising, say every fifty 
miles, from land to land. In point of fact, 
good pilots can now fly in practically any winds, 
and winds of troublesome force are of much 
rarer occurrence than might be supposed. The 
statistics of the Meteorological Office, for instance, 
show that at Holyhead — the windiest place in 
the United Kingdom — there are only thirteen 
days in the year, on the average, when the wind 
reaches a velocity of thirty-nine miles. And 
again with fog, even London has only twenty- 
two days and the south coast only twelve days 





^O DRAWN BY G, BHOlfP rigm 






with fog at 7 a/m— this being the foggiest hour 
of the day. And at the present time, of course, 
fog is a hindrance, if not a danger, to other 
means of transit* 

" Now as to cost. I have made very careful 
estimates on the most conservative basis, and 
am convinced that, given the superior speed and 
the comparative safety, travelling by air is 
commercially possible. Taking the London to 
Paris trip, for example* let us assume that four 
machines travel daily each way, each carrying 
twelve passengers. At a charge of five pounds 
per passenger there would be a profit of forty- 
three thousand pounds on a capital expenditure 
t j f one 1 in ndr e d a nd t h i r t y t hou sa n d pan nds . Th is , 
after providing for all possible expenses, including 
sheds ior changing machines at Dover, Calais, and 

Amiens. If part of the load consisted of mail- 
bags— as it probably would — the profit would 
be still larger. And, mind you, I have taken 
costs as they are to-day, not as they doubtless 
will be a few years hrme, when economies on 
larger production have been made. 

' You must remember that an aerial service 
will require very little capital expenditure as 
compared with railways. The comparison is 
something like sixty thousand pounds per hun- 
dred miles for an aerial service and two million 
four hundred thousand pounds for a railway/' 

" You have dealt with speed, safety, and cost, 
Mr, Holt Thomas. What about the comfort 
of the passengers ? " 

" Well* at|--the:Ri£pep± time, of course, aero- 



Everything is sacrificed to speed and p in the case 
of most of the machines now being manufactured, 
fighting efficiency* But I have gone carefully 
into this question with expert advisers, and it 
is quite certain that machines can be designed 
with cabins in which a number of passengers 
could travel quite a , comfortably as in a train or 
on a steamboat. Indeed, I can show you a model 
of the interior of a flying- boat already built 
which confirms what I say/' 

44 There is one other point you have not 
referred to, Mr. Thomas — the liability to air- 

4t Air-sickness is, I think, getting a more and 
more remote possibility, owing to the speed of 
the machines* In the early days of aviation, 
when the engines were of low horse-power, 
machines were considerably drifted about in 
a wind, but with modern machines of high 
speed the efteet, of moderate winds are hardly 
felt at alh 

" I was recently a passenger on a machine 
fitted with a three hundred and fi ty horse- 
power engine, after not having been up for a 
considerable period, and it was a definite proof 
to me that aeroplane travelling will be superior 
to any mode of transit owing to its comfort— 
that is to say, with, of course, the addition 
of comfortable fuselages, which will naturally 
be a product of commercial aeronautics* 

<f Speed itself has no effect at al] on the pas- 
sengers, so far as I know; Great altitude, in 
the full meaning of the sense " great,* will, of 
course, have an effect on people, especially in 
descending quickly, but I do not think that for 
the employment of commercial aeronautics 
great altitudes will be necessary. At the present 
time they are only necessary to prevent another 
nachine being above one's own, but I think up 
to five thousand feet that nobody would experi- 
ence any ill -effects, rather the reverse, as the 
altitude is exhilarating/' 

CSX t FJR,M*LSoc, t A.M.LM.E, 

" I agree with Mr. Holt Thomas that after the 
war an effort will be made by all civilized nations 
to develop regular postal and commercial com- 
munications by means of the air. From this 
point of view the expenditure of life and treasure, 
of brains and energy on aviation for destroying 
human life and wrecking property during the 
war will prove not unproductive when peace 
comes, Unlike the expenditure of all kinds on 
armaments and weapons of destruction, result- 
ing in nothing useful to the human race in the 
future, the forced development of aviation will, 
perhaps, be the war's most useful legacy, apart 
from its political effects. 

Mt For some time flying wil] be more easy over 






the land than over the sea, owing to the estab- 
lishment of well-organized landing-places at every 
ten, fifteen, or twenty miles. Over the sea flying 
must be more difficult and dangerous to start 
with until the absolutely reliable engine is avail- 
able and the movement of storms and the 
circulation of winds have been studied and their 
behaviour can be forecasted accurately. Not 
that I think that the element of wind will, in the 
long run, prove an adverse factor to the develop- 
ment of flying as a means of travel. In fact, I 
think that the wind systems of the world can 
probably be made to serve the purposes of flying 
exceedingly well, and that instead of winds being 
a disadvantage to flying, as might at first be 
thought, they will assist us, if properly under- 
stood. In fact, the existence of alternate high 
and low pressure areas, with their respective and 
regular circulation of wind, will define far more 
than geographical conditions the chief air routes 
of the world. Perhaps this point can be better 
appreciated if put in another way. A continuous 
three-mile current in the open sea is uncommon, 
most regular ocean currents not exceeding more 
than one-half the speed. Even a three-mile 
current wouW only make a difference to a ship 
of seventy-two miles in twenty-four hours. Yet 
most courses for ships are laid out to avoid or to 
use such currents. In the case of flying, even a 
favourable thirty-mile wind would add seven 
hundred and twenty miles to the day's run, while 
a head wind of a like speed would take seven 
hundred and twenty miles off the distance 
covered. The difference is so great as to make 
longer mileage a matter of comparative indiffer- 
ence, and I think it unlikely, therefore, that 
straight line routes between place and place will 
be those that will ordinarily be adopted. 

'* Further, I do not believe continuous flying 
by night and day will be popular or practical for 
many years to come. A rest by night will be 
more popular than a continuance of the journey 
in the dark. Then the wonderful views of the 
earth beneath will be one of the greatest induce- 
ments to fly by day. 

" The pilots must have regularly-defined stages, 
as engine-drivers have their definite stages on 
long-distance journeys. For instance, the train 
from London to Edinburgh or Glasgow is 
ordinarily drawn by one locomotive from 
London to Crewe, by a second from Crewe to 
Carlisle, and by a third from Carlisle to Edin- 
burgh or Glasgow, the distance of four hundred 
miles being thus broken up into three stages. 
Similarly, the average pilot will be unable to 
remain entirely alert and efficient after the 
strain of, say, six hours' hard flying, even if he 
has an assistant. In addition, to know the 
peculiar weather conditions of any six hundred 
miles stage across the planet's surface, the local 
liabilities to storms and the prevailing air- 
currents at different times of the year will need 
special study in each section. I assume, there- 
fore, that world flying, as far as passenger 
services are concerned, will be arranged by 
stages and not be continuous. There are, of 
course, some oversea routes on which no inter- 
mediate stops will be possible, except in fine 

Digitized by dOOQle 

weather or in conjunction with areas of the 
oceans artificially protected and made suitable 
for landing by oil, baulks of timber, or grass 
mats on a large scale, to abate and subdue heayy 
and breaking waves. By the Southern Atlantic 
route to North America the twelve hundred 
miles of the first stage to the Azores, vi& 
Portugal, will be covered comfortably in pne 
day in ordinary circumstarftce$ and rest 
secured that night, while from there the second 
day's flight on to St. John's, Newfoundland, will 
form quite another possible daylight stage/' 


" The extraordinary progress of aviation during 
three years of war has already justified two con- 
clusions of the utmost importance : — 

" (i) It has become clear that in the air 
science we possess a new arm, not an adjunct. 
For naval purposes aircraft have not yet taken 
the place which is their due. On land they have 
proved able to play a dominating role, and in 
the future superiority in the air will be regarded 
as an essential condition of success in war. 

" (2) Although the evolution of aircraft has 
followed lines dictated by naval and military 
requirements, we already know that large planes 
with great carrying power can be constructed, 
and that passengers and goods can be conveyed 
at high speeds over long distances, with a mini- 
mum of risk and of interference from weather. 
The speed and certainty of movement now pos- 
sible will inevitably be utilized for the conveyance 
of mails. The employment of aircraft for the 
transport of passengers and goods is sure to 
follow. It will, however, depend upon economic 
conditions which we cannot at present forecast 
with any accuracy. I have no doubt that gradual 
progress in other directions will commence when 
peace returns." 


" The question of commercial aviation is a 
big one, but I have no doubt of its future pos- 
sibility. If you consider the enormous strides 
made in the last three years in military aviation, 
who is there who would limit commercial 
possibilities ? 

" I do not imagine for a ~ moment that aero- 
planes will be used to bring home the washing, 
at all events for the first few years, but I imagine 
that immediately after the war is over there will 
be a quick postal aerial mail established between 
London and Paris, and then on to Italy, Switzer- 
land, Spain, etc. 

" That will clearly be the first thing to be 

" This will be followed by larger and slightly 
slower machines taking express passengers. If 
these services prove, as I have no reason to 
doubt, a commercial success, then you will have 
a vast enlargement of services radiating from 
London and Paris all over the world. 

" As to the means for this questions of finance, 
questions of stopping places, and international 
law — all these arc being most carefully and 
assiduously considered by the Government 
Committee on Civil Aerial Transport, of which, 

Ml I I '.' I 1 1 









Original from 





as I am a member, it would be improper for rae 
to give details/' 

(Author of "AeriaJ Flight"). 

" There has been a tendency to fly to extremes 
in this question, Some time ago the idea that 
we should ever travel by air was almost univer 
sally ridiculed. Now some people are talking 
as though in a year or two we should all be 
taking tickets for journeys by air. I see to-day 
that on the strength of Captain Laureati's flight 
{rom^Turin to London one of the newspapers 
suggests that wc shall get a daily supply of Jresh 
fruit and flowers from Italy by aeroplanes. Well, 
perhaps we may— for the King s table ^ I take 
a medium view of the possibilities of commercial 

"In the first place ± I think there can be no 
doubt that aircraft will before long be brought 
into general use for the carrying of mails. Some 
ot these aeroplanes may also be available for 
passengers, and I have no doubt that millionaires 
and other adventurous spirits will adopt this 
method of tra% r eL But 1 think it may be a 
considerable time before you will induce any 
large number ol people to abandon railway: 
and steamships in favour of air travel, There 
is no doubt, of course, that it has been made 
much safer. Not very long before the war 
it was estimated that the mortality amounted 
to one man for every two thousand miles flown ; 
now I suppose it is something like one to every 
forty thou and miles. The 1 re was a time when 
an air journey, in the language of the insurance 
companies, would take off two years from your 
expectation of li r e ; to-day it would not take 

off two days. But probably no amount of 
statistics would convince the general public. 
They must see for themselves air services in 
operation over a considerable time with prac- 
tically no more risk to life and limb than is 
involved in other methods of travelling. How 
long tliis will take I should not like to say. 

" From the national point of view the develop- 
ment of commercial aviation is much to be 
desired. I am not one ot those who think that 
this war is going to be the last war. In my 
opinion it wiU be necessary for us, as a safeguard 
against future wars, to obtain supremacy in the 
air by the maintenance of enormous fleets of 
aircraft. It will be much easier for us to de this 
if some parts of these fleets are made useful for 
commercial purposes during peace. Aircraft 
would then be much in the same position as our 
merchant ships, which are capable of adaptation 
as auxiliary cruisers in the event of war. Unless 
commercial uses can be found for them, I doubt 
very much whether we shall keep aircraft 
factories and skilled pilots and mechanics in 
hein^, as they ought to be kept in the interests 
ol national safety," J 

(Editor of "The Aeroplane"). 

ri It is not a question/' said Mr. Grey, in the 
course of an interview in his editorial office, 
" whether, but when, we shall travel by air. 
In my opinion air travel will have become 
general within ten years after the end oE the war. 
You must remember that a younger generation 
are growing up who have never known what 
the world way like without aeroplanes. They 
have not the same prejudice as the present 












generation against the supposed danger of air 
travelling. If we had the statistics available 
I think it could be shown that air travelling 
under peace conditions and with all the precau- 
tions winch would be adopted la the case of a 
passenger service has become quite reasonably 
safe* The only records which have been kept, 
so far as I know, are those of the travelling schools. 
About six months ago I heard unofficially that 
these records showed one fatality for each 
seventy -five thousand miles of flying, or three 
times round the world. Of course, the percen- 
tage of accidents is really abnormally high 
among the pupils at these schools owing to 
various causes- They may be too reckless by 
temperament, they may think they know 
more than they really do, and for the purpose 
of manoeuvring they have to learn hazardous 
tricks, such as looping the loop. On the other 
hand, passenger planes would be in charge only 
of well-tried, experienced pilots, whose one con- 
sideration would be safety. Then the machines 

would be of a large size, specially designed and 
built from this point of view, and equipped 
with reserve engines, so that the most frequent 
cause of accidents— engine trouble — would be 

H It is quite certain that as soon as the war 
is over a n urn her oi air lines will be promoted—, 
several business men, with ample financial 
resources, have their plans already made. The 
first line will probably be from London to Paris. 
This trip has become quite a familiar one to so; 
many people, officers and others, who during 
this war have been constantly going to and fro 
by air, There is a constant stream of traffic, 
under normal conditions, between the two 
capitals, and many business men would greally 
appreciate the reduction oi the journey to three 
J lours. The first time they might go by air out 
of ' swank, ' but afterwards they would prefer 
it because of its quicker speed and comfort/' 

" Speed, yes, but comfort ? ** 

"Yes, cQriSHELaliriaa") now I find an ^ir 




journey more comfortable than a railway journey p 
with the jolting and noise. Under such condi- 
tions as would prevail in a London -Paris service 
the through journey by air would be usually 
pleasanter than by^the train to Dover, a nasty 
sea-passage, troublesome Customs' examinations, 
and then another three or four hours in a stuffy 
train. It would not be necessary to go more 
than two thousand feet up, and at that height 
on a large machine, such as the Hand ley Page* 
no physical discomfort is experienced. A$ 
regards the ascent and descent t with a careful 
pilot the sensation is no worse than that of 
going up or down in a lift." 

" One more question, Mr. Grey. What has 
been the principal advance made during the 
war to bring commercial aviation within the 
region of practical politics ? M 

" The introduction of lighter engines. This 
has not only made an ascent much easier but 
has also enormously increased the carrying 
capacity of aircraft," 

(Managing Director of Davidson Aviation Co.)* 

" I do not think any doubts can even exist 
in the mind of the public now as to the future 
of aviation. Manufacturers of aircraft certainly 
are fully ;iiive to the part the aeroplane will 
play in the world's work when peace is restored, 
and they are preparing for it accordingly. We 
have very large and very powerfully -engined 
machines now, but the construction and the 
power of future designs will, in my view, be 
much larger and faster than the present ones. 
Lord Montagu has said that the horse-power 
will be counted in thousands, and I think he Ls 
right. One can only generalize in a matter 
of this kind, and exactly what particular form 
the mammoth post- war construction, intended 
for carrying passengers and mails and certain 
classes of merchandise, will take it would not be 
safe to predict. There will be little difficulty 
in planning comfortable accommodation for a 

limited number of passengers for long-distance 
work, but it is not so easy to arrange for the 
correct distribution of the weight of goods, 
There is without doubt immense scope for the 
flying boat which, like the big overland flyer 
operating between all important centres, vi ill 
create a special trade of its own and which, it 
properly organized, will earn 1 good profits for 
their promoters.'' 

(" J.O." of tbs "Westminster Gazette^ 

Mr. Oweti, who as far back as 1909 forecasted 
with remarkable accuracy the rclc of the aero* 
plane in war, gave Jiis view as follows : — 

14 We are now so preoccupied with the use 
of aircraft for destructive purposes that in my 
view one of two things must inevitably happen 
when peace is restored. The Allies will do 
their best to restrict the functions ot the military 
aeroplane and reduce their numbers to an infini- 
tesimal figure, or they will be compelled by the 
sheer momentum of progress to build unlimited 
numbers, in which case the big fighting ship will 
quietly disappear and land armies will be 
rendered impotent and decisions— which may 
mean the obliteration of whole peoples— will 
be secured in the air. Everything will depend 
upon the peace terms, and if the aerial question 
cannot be settled it is quite conceivable that 
our own air force will mount up to several 
hundred thousand machines in time* It will 
be a race for invention as well as numbers, and 
in this connection the commercial aeroplane 
may prove to l>e a means to an end, because 
the authorities will see to it that the peace 
designs of aircraft as well as ships are so fashioned 
that they can be immediately converted for 
war. Every tiling points at the moment to 
the unlimited programme of construction, and 
no Government or people have hitherto been 
able to resist progress in invention. It is diffi- 
cult to see how they can now arrest the unnatural 
expansion of aerial navigation/' 






In a recent article on "War 
Tangrams * r we offered a prize of 
Ten Guineas for the best design sent 
in by any of our readers, composed 
of not more than four tangrams— i,e. # 
twenty- eight pieces in alL Many 
excellent pictures were submitted, and 
after careful consideration the prize 
has been awarded to 6\ McCJenaghan, 
Girton Cot lege, Cambridge, for the 
accompanying clever design, entitled 
" The Execution of Charles L** 




Illustrated fcy A. Gilbert, JR..O.I. 

LD Jamesson was something of a 
character. The position he held 
in the firm of Quinson and 
Beelswright, the famous decora- 
tors and furnishers, was unique. 
It was a known thing that in 
the eyes of the directors old 
Jamesson could do no wrong, or, 
in any case, he could do no radical wrong. All 
his eccentricities and peccadilloes were easily 
forgiven. The man had a certain florid force 
of character, and he was moreover one of the 
best judges of antique furniture and porcelain 
in London, and no mean critic of what is called 
Fine Art. He was a large man with puffy red 
cheeks and grey curls, and • he wore check 
trousers, white spats, and a tortoiseshcll-rimmed 
monocle. His manners were not always irre- 
proachable. He took snuff, ate and drank 
prodigiously, had many little affectations, a 
quick „and tempestuous temper, no sense of 
humour, but a heart of gold. He was a great 
favourite of Mr. Hugh Quinson's, the managing 
director of the firm, who understood him entirely, 
and who would in expansive moments pat him 
on the back and call him " Johnny." He had 
been with the firm for nearly twenty years, and 
for nine years of that period he had been in 
charge of the antique department, and it was 
only by exercising the greatest tact that Mr. 
Quinson had bcen^able to ultimately remove him 
from that position to one of being a head sales- 
man and sub-manager. The trouble with old 
Jamesson in the antique department was that, 
although he was an excellent buyer, he seemed 
to resent having to sell these rare and beautiful 
objects he had been at such pains to collect. He 
liked to walk about among them and touch 
them with his fat fingers, and breathe heavily 
upon their cloistered beauty. If a customer 
showed- a disposition to buy one of his favourite 
pieces, he would instantly depreciate it, and he 
had, moreover, a native instinct for candour 
that^was not strictly in accordance with the 
canons of the commercial side of antique dealing. 
He would say :— > 

" Yes, sir, it looks a fine piece, but only one 
leg is genuine, the rest is copied." 

• Copyright, 191 7, 

Or he would shake his head and remark : — 

" No, madam, I don't agree with you. The 
upper part of this cabinet is fair, but the lower 
part is quite wrong in style." 

Things are not said like that in the antique 
trade, and so he was gradually relieved of the 
responsibility of this position, and was only 
allowed to confine himself to the control of more 
frankly modern tilings. The change, though 
equally remunerative to old Jamesson, and far 
more remunerative to the firm, cannot be said to 
have produced in the former any elevated sense 
of satisfaction. Of course, the work was easy 
enough. He knew the furnishing trade inside 
and out, as he explained to everyone, but the 
modern aspect of it bored him. He left all the 
details of the jobs he had in hand to his assistant, 
Shenton. This Shenton was also a source of 
boredom to him, but at the same time an in- 
valuable young man. He had a thin, cadaverous 
face, a restless eye, and a very retentive memory. 
He was always on the make, and conducted 
goodness knows how many businesses in his 
spare time. His chief hobby in life seemed to 
be to " get someone by the short hairs." He 
was always scheming and planning, and, though 
old Jamesson despised him, and was bored by 
him, he realized his merits, and was at times 
even a little afraid of him. 

On a certain morning in June old Jamesson 
was sent for by Mr. Quinson, who said : — 

" Ah, Johnny, here is an inquiry you might 
attend to. It is from an American named Justus 
Theodore Van Heel. He has bought Gilling's 
Manor, at Wayncshurst, fifteen miles down the 
line in Surrey. He wants it done up. I have 
looked him up in our secret reference list. He 
is all right. His money is in real estate and 
gilt-edged securities. Give him any credit he 

The prospect of interviewing an American 
millionaire did not raise the spirits of Mr. 
Jamesson very considerably, and if it had been 
a dull day he would probably have sent Shenton 
off on this expedition ; but the day was bril- 
liantly fine, and he was not very busy, so he 
decided to go himself. 

He met Mr. Van Heel on the lawn of Gilling's 
by Stacy Aumonier. 




Manor. He was a small, sallow- fared man, with 
w-hite hair and keen grey eyes. He was quick 
in his movements, but p in Jamesson/s opinion, 
curiously resented J for an American. He was 
extreme J y courteous, and, indeed, gave the 
impression of a host ministering to a guest 
rather than a client dealing with a tradesman. 
He took Jamesson^over the house and explained 

I - — - 




Ms requirements, and asked him his opinion 
upon every point, Jt was a charming Queen 
Anne building in a fair state of repair, although 
it had not been lived in for some years. His 
demands were quite simple. He was apparently 
going to live there alone, but the size of the 
mansion would necessitate certain renovations, 
and of the ten bedrooms all except three were 
to be put in onler. For the rest, he wanted 
every tiling kept much as it was. 

On the w^y upstairs he murmured : "I have 
a few pieces of old furniture," and Jamesson's 
interest quickened perceptibly* 

by L^OOgle 

One packing-case had arrived, and was lying 
on the floor on the first landing* The lid had 
been removed, and a pot was standing on the 
floor and a small statuette on a side-table. As 
they passed, Jamesson stooped and passed his 
fingers over the glaze several times. Then lie 
muttered :^— 

" Genuine Wing." 

He then looked closely at the statuette, and 
said : — 

11 Tanagra." 

The American looked at his v Li tor villi one 
of his quick glances,, and said : — 




' * - You know something about — works of art, 
Mr. ? " 

" Jamesson. Yes, I know a little." 

They passed on in silence, each feeling a little 
more drawn towards the other. Mr. Van Heel 
said, at last : — " 

"1 shall hope you will do me the favour of 
giving me your opinion upon all my other goods 
when they arrive." 

" It will be a great pleasure," Jamesson panted, 
following heavily in the wake of his more nimble 

When they had been all over the house, Mr. 
Van Heel led him into the garden. On the east 
side of the house the ground was level for about 
a hundred yards, and then ended in an abrupt 
embankment. This embankment, which extended 
for some distance, was probably the normal 
elevation of the land, but at some time the 
ground below had been levelled, and had been 
converted into a lawn and fruit garden. Mr. 
Van Heel, for some reason or other, seemed a 
little agitated. He cougted, and said : — 

" Will you be so good as to come this way ? " 

When they arrived at the embankment, he 
pointed to it, and continued : — 

" I have the idea to make a squash-racket 
court here." 

It would not have been surprising if old 
Jamesson had expressed astonishment at this 
request, but he had been in the furnishing trade 
for over thirty-five years, and he knew that it 
was not his business to be surprised at any 
suggestion made by a client, . particularly a 
wealthy one. 

He said : " Yes, sir. Do you wish it cut out 
of the embankment ? " 

The American's idea was quite simple. It 
was to be as it were sunk into the embankment, 
with concrete walls and a concrete base, a 
small gallery upstairs netted in, a flat skylight, 
and. two powerful arc lights giving almost the 
effect of daylight, so that his guests could, if 
they liked, play after dinner or in the winter 
when it got dark early. 

Jamesson listened to Mr. Van Heel's instruc- 
tions, and took down one or two notes in his 
pocket-book, and came to a mental decision 
that this would be a very good job for Shenton . 
to see through. He mildly wondered once 
or twice at such an elderly gentleman as Mr. 
Van Heel requiring a squash-racket court, 
and being so keen and determined about all 
the details ; he also wondered why he should 
insist on its being built so far away from the 
house when there was an excellent site for it 
in a yard which adjoined the servants' quarters. 
But he did not give the matter much attention 
at the time. His mind was more occupied with 
the Ming pot on the staircase and the Tanagra 
statuette. The hour was also approaching 
when he was in the habit of having a long and 
refreshing drink, and he knew he had nearly 
a two-miles' walk to the station. * When they 
arrived back at the house, however, all his 
apprehensions on this score were set at rest, 
for Mr. Van Heel immediately led into the 
dining-room, and said : — 


" You must allow me to offer you a little 
refreshment before your journey." 

A bumper glass of Jamesson's favourite 
beverage was set before him, and a cigar the 
like of which he had never imagined existed 
found its way between his teeth. He observed 
that his host only drank Vichy water. He was 
a peculiarly mild and gentle little man. James- 
son had never met an American who talked so 
little. He was no great talker himself, and the 
silences would have been almost embarrassing 
but for the fact that he felt strangely drawn 
towards this unusual client. When it became 
time for Jamesson to go, Mr. Van Heel stood 
up, and said : — 

" My automobile is here. It will take you 
to the station. Perhaps, Mr. Jamesson, you 
will* do me the favour of meeting me at my 
flat in town, when we can discuss the disposition 
of the various pieces of furniture. I bave 
some Francois premier work which may interest 

This was a job after Jamesson's own heart, 
and he readily assented, and returned to town 
in better spirits than he had been for some 
time. He handed the instructions to Shenton, 
with the remark : — 

" Here, get out an estimate for this lot." 

On the following Wednesday Jamesson met 
Mr. Van Heel by appointment at a flat in West- 
minster, and he spent a most entrancing day. 
He arrived there at twelve and stayed till a 
quarter to six. The two men lunched on whisky 
and sandwiches. In the whole course of his 
career Jamesson had never come across such 
a fine private collection of old furniture, paint- 
ings, and objets d'art. Mr. Van Heel becanie 
garrulous. It was obviously the hobby of his 
life, the one thing he was really interested in. 
Jamesson responded with warmth. He had met 
a kindred spirit. It was a glorious time. He 
had never met anyone before with -such a sym- 
pathetic passion for old "pieces." So interested 
did they become in discussing their antiquity, 
their beauty, their proportions, the slightly 
doubtful authenticity of certain sections, that 
they quite forgot the original idea of the visit, 
which was to determine whqre the different 
pieces were to be placed in Gilling's Manor. 
Consequently a further visit had to be arranged. 
When Jamesson arrived home that night he 
felt that a new light had come into his life. A 
kindred ---spirit. He was very cheerful. He 
lived with his wife, two daughters, and a son 
in a high and rather ugly house in Kensington. 
It was a pleasant innocuous minage, where all 
sorts of allowances were made for " the eccen- 
tricity of papa." But when " papa " was in a 
good temper, the general standard of happiness 
and comfort was equal perhaps to that of any 
other middle-class family in the neighbourhood. 
On this particular evening, when his wife com- 
mented on his buoyant frame of mind, he 
remarked : — 

" I met a very charming man in business to- 
day, my dear, very charming indeed." 

During the ensuing month Jamesson went 
about his work widi a kind of stolid zest. He 




did nut hurry or behave with any outward sign 
of excitement , but he worked quietly and well. 
He would sometimes hum an unrecognizable 
tune under his breath, and he showed a dispo- 
sition to be kind to everyone, and even tolerant 
to Shenton, The work at Calling's Manor 
proceeded, a ad he met Mr. Van Heel three or 
four times in town and twice in the country. 
It could not be said that they became friends, 
but they became peculiarly sympathetic on 
the one theme, Jamesson was conscious that 
Van Heel had taken to him. lie liked to have 
him to talk to and to listen to ; but he was 
also conscious that there was an unbridgeable 
reserve between the American and himself, 
lie noted that if the discussion threatened to 
develop beyond the bounds of this subject 
which absorbed them, Mr. Van Heel drew ftack. 
He did not seem disposed to talk about himsulf 
or his life or his thoughts. And Jamesson, 
realizing this, respected the other man's mental 
attitude, and made a point of also avoiding the 
personal equation. 

Nevertheless, the wells of their mutual interest 
were inexhaustible. They went to Christie's 
together, and Mr, Van Heel bought a Diaz at 
Jamcsson's suggestion. And they went to 
the South Kensington Museum and the National 
Gallery, and even poked about among antique 
shops in Soho. They talked Spode and Wor- 
cester, clui sonnet Limoges, Hep pel white. Cfdncse 
lacquer, Daubign>\ the French transition period, 
Delia Robbia, the quinq accent is ts, everything 
that really matters in this life, Jamesson 
found a revived interest in the society of his 
newly-found acquaintance. 

It was not till the renovations at Gil ling's 
Minor had been nearly completed that a sudden 
intrusion came to disturb this pleasant intimacy. 
It happened one evening in September. Janu s- 
son had been working late, and lie had adjourned 
to the bar of the Green Turtle to enjoy 
a well-merited tankard of ale before returning 
home, when Shenton came into the bar. He 
was looking strangely excited- He had appar- 
ently been drinking. His upper lip quivered, 
and his eyes had a restless, furtive expression. 
He came straight over to Jamesson and leered 
at him. 

Jamesson blinked at his assistant, and said : — 

" What's the matter with you ? M 

Shenton nervously licked the end of a cigar- 
ette, and called for some whisky. He was very 
mysterious. He nodded and winked, and 
glanced apprehensively round the bar. He 
had been staving down :it Wayne shurst for a 
few days, superintending the Gil ling's Manor 
job, and had just returned, jamesson got 
impatient at these antics, and he said, irri- 
tably :— 

Is the job going all right ? " 

Shenton nodded, and then leant a little closer. 
Suddenly he whispered thickly : — 

" Say, who is this 'ere Van Heel ? What 
do you know about 'im, eh } " 

Jamesson bridled somewhat, and said : — 

" What do \ u ? .n, ' What do I know about 
Ba's all right, isn't her* 

zed byViOOgle 

Shenton loomed with things of tremendous 
importance, lie winked again, and drained 
his glass. Then he p idled Jamesson by the 
coat-slecye a Httlc farther away from a group 
of men talking earnestly about ratting. And 
suddenly he made a scries of most surprising 
suggestions to Jamesson. He said : — 

" Van Heel ? Von Heel, I should say I " 
Then he leaned forward and whispered : " 'Ere, 
what's an old man like that want a squash- 
racket court for ? What about the concrete 
foundations as a base for a big howitzer, eh? 
What about Wayneshurst ? Fifteen miles from 
South London, eh ? A big gun from there could 
raze Kcnnington, Streatham, and Brixton to 
the ground in half an hour, eh ? What's 'c 
want these "ere powerful arc lights for at night, 
throwing a light straight up at the sky from the 
top of an embankment ? What sort of name is 
Van Heel ? What nationality would you call 
J im, eh ? ,J 

An expression of surprise and disgust came 
over Jamesson"s face. He exclaimed : — 

" Mr. Van Heel is a gentleman ; one of 
the best I " 

Shenton leered, and called for another whisky. 

" Well, you can guess what / think, and I'm 
on *is track.'* 

As Jamesson looked at his assistant at that 
moment, he realized for the first time that he 
had the thin pointed face of a sleuth-hound. 
He hated the man. It was abominable. He 
would not hear a word of such nonsense. Ho 
muttered, angrily : — 

" Rubbish I Go and hold your silly head 
under a tap ! ** 

But Shenton was quite unperturbed by this 
insult. He was too full of importance, and 
whisky. He had found his right mitiev. A 'tec ■ 
He had indeed been dwelling upon this idea for 
some time, and coming up in the train he had 
visualized his own portrait on the front pa^e 
of the Daily Photo, " Mr. James Shenton, 
the smart young furniture salesman, whose 
clever dispositions in the first place led to the 
discovery.' p Phew ■ it was going to be exciting. 
Recognition, fame, and a fat cheque from some 
official quarter, and then to the deuce with the fur- 
nishing trade ! Jamesson could read something 
of these vivid anticipations on the face of 
his assistant, and his only desire was to escape 
from him. And he did so by deliberately turning 
his back on him and walking out of the bar. 

But he spent a restless night. Of course, the 
suggestions were absurd, preposterous ! He 
would have none of them, A man like 'Mr. 
Van Heel, who loved Limoges enamels, and could 
tell the date ol any piece of furniture at a glance. 
a spy I There was nothing of the spy about him. 
except his reserve. Yes, certainly he was very 
reserved about his private life. But so wire 
many others. The squ ash-racket court was 
peculiar but not unreasonable. And the arc 
lights that made the court like daylight ? Well, 
if people wanted to play the silly game at niphf „ 
they must see. There was nothing in thi^. 
Of course, as Shenton said, the position w;b 
peculiarly ©Pr^irfflt^rTOto* ^ e hinted **■ ^ 




was at the crest of a long, gently-rising slope. It 
commanded South London, But this was 
merely coincidence The name ? Well, a name 
meant nothing. At its worst it was only Dutt:h. 
He would dismiss the whole thing from his 
mind, And he would 
take Shenton away 
from this job and see 
it through himself. 

But in this latter 
resolution he reckoned 
without his host. 
Shenton was prepared 
for this, and he was 
rather too clever for 
him, He had all the 
details at his finger- 
ends, and when James- 
son tried to take it 
up, he soon got into a 
muddle. In disgust, he 
hi tided it back to 
Shenton again, and told 
him "to get on with 
it P and not have quite* 
so much of the Sher- 
lock Holmes. ,J 

Shenton accepted 
this gibe without a 
word, and soon made 
it his business to go 
do wn to Wa yneSh u rs t 
again and stay the 
night. In the mean- 
time Jamesson once 
more went out with 
Mr, Van Heel and they 
visited more exhibitions 
and sales together, He 
thought the American 
seemed a little more 
nervous and abstracted 
than usual, but perhaps 
this was only his imag- 
ination. ' The squash- 
racket court was com- 
pleted before the rest 
of the work. Shenton 
then stayed down there 
for several nights at 
the local inn, It is 
difficult to know what 
might have been the 
outcome of what he 
called his " disposi- 
tions/" if the old tag, 
"in vino Veritas/' had 
not exerted its influ- 
ence on his behaviour. 
For he came up to town 
one evening a little M the 
worse for wear," as 
someone described aim 
in the bar o*f the Green 
Turtle, and in the ex- 
citement of his mood he 
blabbed his scheme into 
the ear of Jamesson. 

' To-morrow night," he said, "I'm going 
to get Mr, Herr von Heel by the short 'airs* 
I'm going to fix im all right/' 

And then he explained that for the last week, 
every night after dinner, Mr. Van Heel had 

'SHKNTON LEANED FORWARD ANtff))Ygjpj^Hfag ^ 'ERE, What's 
OLD MAN LIKE THAT WA*jfc A .M.VfWlH+Cfil^, fipy E£T POR 


i ™.-'ffl5frf'3mfriiOT 



crept out to the squash-racket court and shut 
himself in for about half an hour, and had then 
returned to the house. Shenton could not see 
what took place there, for a dark green blind 
w:is drawn over the skylight, but he could see 
that the powerful lights were on inside. But 
now the astute salesman had arranged a little 
device of his own. The framework of the sky* 
light was supported by a double brkk wall, 
but Shenton, with his own hands, had loosened 
one of the outer bricks at the back of the ven- 
tilator. To-morrow night lie was going to lie 
in wai-t for Mr. Van HeeL He would lie on his 
face on the top of the embankment and remove 
the brick before Mr. Van Heel came, and then 
when he entered the court, Shenton would be 
able to observe him comfortably through the 
ventilator without being seen himself. He was 
consumed with his brilliant cunning, and simply 
could not keep his excitement to himself. James- 
son scowled blackly, but made no comment, 

But to Shenton" s disgust, on the following 
day he was just sitting down to an early chop 
artd a whisky ami soda in the Bull Inn, at 
Wayneshurst, when the big man came in. 
Shenton started and said : — 

" Halloa ! what are you here for 1 " 

Jamesson replied casually :— 

" Oh, I J m just down for a change of scenery. 
I'm going out for a stroll with you after you've 
ft listiod making a beast of yourself/ 4 

Shenton was very annoyed. He cursed his 
alcoholic mood of the previous evening which 
had led him into blabbing the truth. He 
didn't want anyone else in this, This was his 
show, He'd done all the work and made all 
the " dispositions/' He didn't fancy having 
Jamesson's photograph alongside his own in 
ail the illustrated weeklies. He wanted all 
the glory to himself. It was most unfair. 
And he said as much ; but Jamesson was ada- 
mant. Shenton could not see how he was to 
prevent his heavily-built senior from accom- 
panying 1dm, for nothing apparently but physical 
force could stop him, and Shenton had it not. 
He sulked, and tried to lie, but Jamesson stolidly 
smoked a pipe and waited. 

After Shenton 's meal they started out together 
H silence. It was a dark October night and 
i ic lined to rain. They walked the two miles 
to Gilliug's Manor without exchanging comments, 
and approached the embankment from the 
back, Shenton soon found the shallow brick 
Wall which enclosed the framework of the sky- 
light. He felt along it with his hand, and his 
tireth were chattering unaccountably, Jamesson 
f K?lt cold and wretched but determined. He 
detested spying ; it was no business of his what 
Mr. Van Heel did in his own racket -court, but 
he had come to see that Shenton didn't make 
a fool of himself, and he meant to hang on to 
htm at all costs, 

Shenton produced a screwdriver and a narrow 
strip of steel, and the brick came away quite 
easily* And then they waited* A few dim 
lights in the house, away among the trees, 
sh iwed that activity of some sort was in pro* 
grcis + A dog barked and then became silent* 


They seemed to wait an interminable time, 
but at length Shenton muttered : — 

" He's coming," 

They saw a dark figure come quietly up the 
gravel path that had been cut up to the court. 
It moved quickly and deliberately, and soon 
they heard a key turn in the outer door, which 
was of wood, and then the door slammed* There 
was a narrow vestibule between the outer door 
and the door of the court, which was of iron 
and fitted flush to the walls. In a few seconds 
they heard the iron door open, and then the 
court was flooded with light. The two salesmen 
had to have their faces unpleasantly close to- 
gether to obtain any view at all, and for some 
minutes they believed they were not going to 
see anything. They could just observe the top 
of Mr. Van Heel's head as he moved about in 
the court. But at last he produced a long deal 
board and placed it against the wall. Then he 
unrolled something and pinned it up on the 
board. They could see the object very dis- 
tinctly, but they could only see the back of Mr. 
Van Heel's head, and then he sat down and they 
could not see him at all. 

Now, when these two watchers observed this 
thing pinned upon the board it produced in them 
two very diyerse emotions. In Shenton it pro- 
duced a feeling of utter disappointment and 
disgust. To Jamesson it was the most amazing 
moment of his life. To Shenton it was just a por- 
trait of a girl painted in oils* but to Jamesson it was 
something which sent his heart beating violently 
against his ribs, for he recognized it at once. 
It was nothing less than the famous H Santa 
Maria 1 * by Leonardo da Vinci, which had five 
years previously been cut out of its frame in the 
Academic des Beaux Arts in Paris, and had 
never been heard of since ! Van Heel ! HU 
friend Van Heel had stolen it ! 

Jamesson was glad of the darkness* He drew 
back and wiped his brow. He heard Shenton 
mutter :— 

" It's a dirty wash-out ! J± 

Jamesson managed to pull himseM together 
sufficiently to whisper :— 

11 You've made a blanketty fool of yourself* 
Let's get back," 

But Shenton insisted on remaining. He 
wanted to see what his intended victim meant 
to do. He could not believe that an oil painting 
alone could be the motive for these nocturnal 
visits, He would not be robbed so easily of 
his bombs and flashlight signals. And so they 
both continued peeping through the grille. 
But so far as they could see, Mr, Van Heel did 
nothing but sit there and gaze at the portrait. 
It was most disappointing. At the end of about 
twenty minutes the lights went out, the dooiB 
banged, and they Tieard the American returning 
along the gravel path to the house. 

The two men stood up, and Shenton became 
sulkily abusive. He cursed the silly sentimental 
old fool who had gone to r*U this trouble M to 
look at the portrait of some girl he had been 
in love with." He became violently insulting 
to Jamesson > but that gentleman was hardly 
listening to him. He was very much consumed 




with hb own internal fires. He wanted to get 
away from Shenton and think this thing out. 
At the inn he said good night abruptly and went 
up to his room. But it was many hours before 
Jamesson found his well-earned sleep. He lay 
there racked by the contemplation of this pre- 
posterous crime. It was incredible, amazing, 
and yet — it was a crime he could appreciate 
and even sympathize with. He had heard the 
■' Santa Maria" appraised at the value of twenty 
thousand pounds. Mr, Van Heel was a very 
rich man. He had 
not stolen it for 
its money value. 
He would not in 
any case be able 
to sell it. Why 
had he taken it ? 
How. had he 
managed it? 
Ought Jamesson 
to give him away ? 
These questions 
kept revolving 
restlessly through 
his brain, James- 
son was a simple - 
minded man. His 
sins were always 
placed jauntily in 
the shop window. 
He had a reputa- 
tion for candour 
and straight- 
dcaling, but he 
was not neces- 
sarily mattcr-cf- 
fact. The romance 
of the furnishing 
trade was a 
favourite theme 
of his. And on 
that still night 
there occurred to 
him that in all 
his career he had 
never encoun- 
tered quite such a 
romantic experi- 
ence as this, no 
episode which so 
dove-tailed with 
his own peculiar 
sensuous aspira- 
tions. It was tre- 
mendous ! How the man must love Art. Fancy 
risking his uhnle life and reputation to acquire a 
picture so that he might secretly call it his very 
own. Imagine the fierce moods of exultation he 
would enjoy as he stole into the private chamber 
night after night and gloated over the beauty of 
the thing he had torn from the vulgar gaze of the 
public 1 What a risk the man must have run ! 
What a passion it must have been that stirred 
him to this desperate action. And so — the 
squash-racket court with its concrete floors and 
its windowless walls, and the powerful arc lights 
that made the room at night " like daylight " 1 


And that fool Shenton ! The great bulk ol 
Jamesson shrjok the bed with laughter when 
he thought of his discomfited assistant. Thank 
God he hadn't recognized the work. He wouldn't 
know one painting from another, the chicken- 
headed tyke I 

Jamesson returned to town next day, but lie 
became restless and abstracted in his work. 
He could not determine his 6wn course of action. 
The affair obsessed him. And he desired 
passionately to share his secret knowledge with 

someone. At last 
he acted in a 
manner that was 
characteristic of 
him. He wrote to 
Mr. Van Heel and 
asked for an ap^ 
pointment in 
town. He went 
to the flat in 
Westminster, and 
when he was alone 
with his client he 
said quietly, but 
deliberately : — 

" I have seen 
your 'Santa 
Maria. 11 * J 

The e fleet of 
this remark was 
electrical. He 
saw the little 
American start 
from his chair, 
his face change 
colour, and his 
hand automati- 
cal ly slip towards 
a hip-pocket, 
Jamesson pro- 
ceeded in level 
tones : — 

" I have no in- 
tention of be* 
t raying your— 
secret/ 1 

Mr. Van Heel 
stood wildly 
gazing at him, 
his breath coming 
quickly, and his 
thin hands clutch- 
ing the table for 
support. He mare 
a curious choking noise in his throat, and then 
swayed and Rank back to the chair and buried 
his if ace in his hands. 

Jamesson, feeling uncomfortable and embar- 
rass ed, looked down at his hat, and then pro- 
ceeded to take out and fill his pipe. The America n 
did not speak. At length Jamesson managed 
to say, thickly : — 

"I must apologize for intruding. My assis- 
tant — an interfering young devil, but he knows 
nothing. You must not be disturbed. It is 
a matter which concerns no one but yourself. 
I should not dream — perhaps I can understand* 









. mi . -I 


B a 






But still Mr. Van Heel was silent At last derate to me. J appreciate your kindness, 

■he rose and walked unsteadily to the fireplace, I am very — I cannot express mybcli for the 

With his back to J am csscm t he said in a low p moment." 

clear voice :- — Then he paused and added : — 

" Mr. Jamesson, you have been very consi- "If you wiU return this afternoon at five 

Original From 

ave oeen very consj 




o'clock, I will try to let you understand better. 
I " 

Jamesson stood up and bowed heavily. 
Then he said : — 

" I will agree to come back at five o'clock, 
and I do not hold you to any explanation. As 
I have said, I pledge myself to entire secrecy 
in the matter, but I must make one stipulation." 

" What is that ? " answered the American, 
without turning. 

" That you hand me that revolver from your 

Mr. Van Heel started and turned, and James- 
son thought he detected a tear on the brink 
of his eyes. Slowly he drew out his revolver 
and placed it on the table. Jamesson picked 
it up and added • — 

" And that you promise not to do anything 
— foolish till I return." 

Mr. Van Heel paused, and then bowed his 
head, and Jamesson withdrew. 

When he returned at five o'clock, Mr. Van 
Heel was alone in the flat. It was a cold, 
bleak day, and the streets were already lighted. 
A bright fire was burning in the drawing-room, 
and his host led him thither. 

" Please sit down," he said. 

He seemed to have aged since the morning, 
but his face had a calm, resigned expression. 
He took a seat facing the fire, with his profile 
towards Jamesson. He started speaking imme- 
diately, as though anxious to relieve himself 
of some terrible strain. 

" You have been very sympathetic to me, 
Mr. Jamesson, and I am jentirely in your hands, 
I do not deny that I haver the picture you men- 
tion. I can only tell you my story, and trust 
to your generosity of heart to treat me as leniently 
as you think fit. I will be as brief as possible. 
I come of an old Southern family from Virginia. 
We were raised on most strictly puritanic — 
exclusive lines. It was even a great source of 
annoyance to my parents that I took an interest 
in Art. I had known my wife since we were 
Children. She also came of an old family, 
the Lowrys, who were if anything more exclusive 
than ourselves. In fact, we saw very few other 
families in our State. It was a sort of under- 
stood thing — the Van Heels and the Lowrys 
had been connected for generations. We were 
married at twenty-five. We were very happy. 
We had one daughter, the darling of our lives. 
Her name was Anna. W r e lavished on her all 
our love and care and wealth. We built up 
splendid dreams for her. She was the most 
beautiful thing that ever danced in the sun. 
She had all our Southern pride, but something 
of the free-moving, independent nuance of the 
North. We enjoyed nearly twenty years of 
unalloyed family happiness, and then suddenly 
one day our daughter announced that she had 
fallen in love with a young sailor — an ordinary 
seaman working before the mast in a coastal 
steamer. I nee.d hardly say that my wife and 
I protested. We forbade her to see him, or 
him to enter our house. But the affair went 
on. She saw him secretly, and my wife was 
furious. There was one terrible interview. 

We all lost our tempers. My daughter walked 
out of the house and — I have not seen her 

Mr. Van Heel paused and pressed his hand- 
kerchief against his brow. Then he continued 
more slowly : — 

" For years we believed she would return. 
In the first flush of anger we destroyed all her 
portraits and photographs. Then we repented. 
I wrote to her, but either she did not get the 
letter, or she was too proud to answer. We 
heard that she had married the sailor, and had 
gone to sea, but we heard nothing more. Three 
years went by, and we became disconsolate, 
and at length my wife died in my arms." 

Mr. Van Heel again paused, and buried his 
face in his hands, and spoke drearily : — 

" I travelled after that. I visited various 
* ports, hoping to meet her. Then I came across 
to Europe and wandered about England, and 
Italy, and France. I sank into a low, maudlin 
state, and I believe to a certain extent my mind 
became unhinged. I was in Paris one day, 
and I drifted into the Academic des Beaux 
Arts. Looking at paintings was the only interest 
I had in life. Suddenly I came face to -face with 
the ' Santa Maria ' of Leonardos. The thing was 
amazing, r Apart from being such a beautiful 
work, it was incredibly like my daughter Anna ! 
It had her same proud smile, the same queer 
way of peering at you, even the hair and the 
colour of the eyes were the same. I gazed 
at it breathlessly. It was the only thing in 
the world which recalled- her. I had no other 
record. Every day for weeks I went to the 
Academie and gazed at this wonderful portrait. 
I was not happy away from it. The knowledge 
that it was there seemed to keep me sane. At 
last the thing became an obsession. I could 
think of nothing else. I determined to steal 

Jamesson leaned forward. 

" How did you manage that ? " he asked, 

Mr. Van Heel sighed. 

" They say, Mr. Jamesson," he answered, 
" that money can accomplish anything. I 
certainly spent a good deal of money acquiring 
the 'Santa Maria.' And I do not propose to 
bore you with all the details of it. In fact, 
I have forgotten many of them myself. I can 
only say that I ran no risks at all on the score 
of expense. It involved buying a confectionery 
business in the Rue d'Abcrnon, which, as you 
know, runs at the back of the Academie. I 
employed two gentlemen of adventurous dis- 
position. One came from Texas, the other was 
a Frenchman. You may remember that at 
the time of the robbery two attendants- were 
found asphyxiated in Gallery VII. , and the 
picture was cut neatly out of the frame, while 
an entrance had apparently been cut through 
a shutter and a window and had been effected 
from the iron fire-escape emergency staircase. 
These things are apparently astonishingly simple 
if you take enough pains and trouble. My 
friend from Texas threw a lariat from our roof 
on to the flagstaff of the Academie at three 

by V_ 







o'clock in the morning. It is a matter of twenty- 
five yards or so. It was then an affair of rope- 
ladders and rubber piping. The Frenchman 
was a chemist — a charming person, with anar- 
chical tendencies' but a kind heart. From a 
series of large cylinders in the top room of the 
confectionery business in the Rue d'Abernon 
we pumped quantities of a very penetrating 
but quite innocuous gas through the ventilators 
of five galleries in the Academie. We knew 
that these galleries were separated from the 
rest of the building at night by iron fireproof 
doors, but we could not, of course, be sure in 
which one the attendants might be at the time. 
So we gassed them all. The result was entirely 
successful. The two men were found sleeping 
peacefully in Gallery VII., although I might add 
that a pack of cards was found between them 
and also a bottle of beer. M. Touquet was even 
thoughtful enough to remove these incriminating 
objects before we left, after we had cut the 
picture from its frame. We did not want the 
men to get into trouble. I was amazed at the 
simplicity and success of the whole scheme. 
I paid M. Touquet and Len Pollard ten thousand 
dollars each* Pollard is now running a big 
ranch in Arizona and is the father of five splendid 
children, and Touquet, I believe, is in Russia, 
' working politically,' he tells me. 

" I left Paris soon afterwards and came to 
England, smuggling the picture through the 
false bottom of a trunk. It has been a source 
of endless comfort to me, my one connecting 
link with those I loved. But I have always 
been haunted by the fear of discovery. In 
hotels nothing is sacred. And even in a private 
house there are always servants. Rooms have 
to be cleaned out. I did not want to arouse 
suspicion. It was one day in the Royal Auto- 
mobile Club here that the idea of a squash- 
racket court occurred to me. I thought that 
anything to do with sport would probably not 
arouse suspicion in this country. And the 
court has no windows, and I am undisturbed at 
night. I keep the picture in the locker which 
you made for rackets and balls, and of which no 
one has the key but myself. That is all my , 
story. I do not attempt to extenuate my 
crime, for crime it undoubtedly is, and I place 
myself entirely at your disposal. My only 
plea is my unhappiness. I am unhappy — 
u nhappy — unhappy. ' ' 

It would be difficult to express the exact 
effect that this amazing story had upon Jamesson. 
He could not reconcile the opposing motives 
of pride and sentimentality which had prompted 
the Southern States man to act in the way he 
had. He was to a certain extent disappointed. 
It shattered his dream of that splendid sin 
which appealed to him far more — the sin of a 
man whose passion for Art was so great that he 
had fallen in love with the thing itself — had 
risked his life for it. Jamesson could not for 
the moment concentrate. His slow-moving 
rnind became only conscious of the fact that 
he was in the presence of a fellow-being who 
was suffering intensely. He fumbled with his 
hat, and could only keep repeating : 

" Please do not disturb yourself. It is under- 
standable. I shall not betray you." 

He did not know how he escaped from the 
presence of Mr. Van Heel. He went about his 
work for days as though in a dream. Everyone 
found him abstracted and apt to be quarrelsome/ 
and at home " the eccentricity of papa " became 
a nuisance to all his family. The job at Gilling's 
Manor was completed, and the account sent in 
and paid for by return of post. 

It was, in fact, several months later before 
any further development took place. And then 
one Friday he received a telegram : — 

" Will you come down and see me to-morrow ? 
Car will call for you at three. — Van Heel." 

It was a clear April day when Jamesson once 
more alighted at the front porch of Gilling's 
Manor. On either side of the porch two beds 
of crimson tulips struck a note of gaiety. The 
lawn was rolled and cut and in good condition. 
There was indeed about the whole establish- 
ment an air of brightness that did not seem 
to characterize it before. As he was about to 
enter the hall a girl in a white frock, carry- 
ing a basket and a pair of garden scissors, 
came singing out of the house. She looked at 
Jamesson and smiled and passed on, and the 
large salesman stood there spellbound. The 
girl appeared to him the reincarnation of the 
u Santa Maria." 

He had not time to recover from his astonish- 
ment when he found himself ushered into the 
white-panelled library. Mr. Van Heel, looking 
years younger and with his face flushed with 
some innate excitement, sprang to his feet 
and shook his hand. At the same- time he cried 
out : — 

" Mr. Jamesson, I'm very pleased to see you. 
Allow me to introduce you to* my son-in-law. 
Captain David Stoddard." 

A tall, good-looking man with iron-grey hair 
rose from his seat and shook Jamcsson's hand. 
He was in the uniform of a United States naval 
officer. He said : — j 

*',Mr. Jamesson, I'm pleased to meet you." 

Mr. Van Heel added : — 

M I've been telling my son-in-law all about 
you, Mr. Jamesson. And I propose that we 
three go and have a game of squash-rackets." 

And he laughed gaily. 

The three of them strolled out into the garden 
and up towards the embankment. 

When they entered the court, Mr. Van Heel 
locked the door on the inside and opened the 
locker. He produced the painting and pinned 
it on the board. 

" Now ! " he said. 

Captain Stoddard looked at it and remarked : — 

" Gee ! It's certainly like her, though it's 
not very flattering." 

Mr. Van Heel laughed, and Jamesson blew 
his nose violently. Then the owner of the house 
said : — 

" Mr. Jamesson, I've made a full confession 
of my crime to my son-in-law, as I did to you. 
We are the only three men who know the truth 
about the ' Santa Maria.' You were good enough 
to say you would preserve my secret, and my 

by LiOOglC 

_- 1 I •_! 1 1 I >.l I I I ■_' I 1 1 



son-in-law, with a generosity which I do not 
deserve, has also forgiven me and promises to 
keep silent, There only remains now the dispo- 
sition of the picture, which I no longer require. 
I cannot take it back and I cannot destroy it, 
1 therefore propose to ask you to take it and to 
do with it whatever you think fit, and please 
do not think I wish to be patronizing if I ask 
you to accept this little present as a recognition 
of your trouble and the kindness of heart you 
showed me in peculiarly trying circumstances," 

Jamesson returned to town by train. Between 
his teeth he thoughtfully chewed a cigar which 
cost sixpence. On the rack above him was a 
cylindrical- shaped brown paper parcel containing 
an object which he had reason to believe was 
worth twenty thousand pounds. 

44 The furnishing trade is a very romantic 
business/' he kept thinking to himself* 

When he arrived home, he told his wife that 
he had some letters to write, so he went up to 
a little room at the top of the house, which he 




And he handed the astonished Jamesson a 
cheque for five hundred pounds* 

On the lawn outside they met Anna, with 
her basket full of flowers. She smiled and 
said : — 

" What have you three been doing ? " 

"We've been playing squash- rackets,, my 

" Yon don't look very hot/' she remarked, 
and then her checks dimpted roguishly as she 
added, " 1 bctieve you keep a canteen in that 
funny little, house/* 

by LiOOgle 

called his den. Then he unwrapped the brown- 
paper parcel and gazed lovingly at the picture. 
And strange moods and temptations came to 
him. How romantic thai would be I For one 
man to have secretly this— perhaps the finest 
work of art in the world— to creep up every 
night alone and revel in its absorbing beauty I 
Not to steal it for its gain, or even for its senti- 
ment, but for joy in the thing itself ! jamesson 
sighed and lighted his pipe. A thing of beauty 
is a joy for ever. He sat there a long time 
looking at thej pichtttS m At last he packed it up 




again and locked it in a cupboard and went to 

In the morning he was up earlier than usual. 
He wrote out a label in Roman lettering : — 

Au Patron, 
academie des beaux arts, 


He was no French scholar, and he felt a little 
uncertain about the M patron," but he knew the 
owner of an hotel was a patron, so why not an 
academy ? In any case the Acadfcmie officials 
would get it. 

Then he strolled out at his usual time and 
went* to an obscure post-office where he was not 

" Will you register this, please ? " he said, 
to the girl. 

He was handed the receipt and sighed and* 
went out into the street. He hummed to himself 
a passage of a phrase that was meant to be an 
excerpt from an Italian opera. 

When he arrived at Quinson and Beclswright's 
he found Shenton standing in his office with 
his hat and coat on. 

" I'm through with this hole," said the assis- 

" What do you mean ? " said Jamesson. 

"I'm fed up. D'you understand ? " Shenton 
exclaimed, somewhat hysterically. " I've sent 
in my resignation to the boss and I'm going. 
This place is dull — dull- dull ! It may be all 

right for old buffers like you,, but it's not romantic 
enough for me. I'm off to Australia. Nothing 
ever happens here. It's simply killing me." 

Jamesson blew out his cheeks. 

" I see," he said. * • 

" They can have my next week's salary," 
continued Shenton. "I'm going now." And 
he held out his hand. Jamesson took it. 

" So you're going to Australia ? " He raised 
his eyebrows and thought ponderously. Then 
he said : — 

'" Well, perhaps you're right. Australia ought 
to be just the place for a bright boy like you." 

He fumbled with his pocket-book, and suddenly 
produced two five-pound notes. 

" Don't think I bear you any animosity, 
Shenton," he said. " Here is a little something 
towards your expenses. Perhaps you'll think 
considerately of me at times." 

He gazed heavily at a small pile of letters 
on his desk. 

" They say," he remarked, " that a rolling 
stone gathers no moss. Well, I suppose that's 
true, but we all have to roll a bit to find the 
right sort of moss that suits us. But when 
you find the moss, Shenton, freeze on to it. Do 
one thing decently well. It pays in the end." 

He hung up his hat and coat. 

" If you take my advice," he added, " you'll 
avoid the detective business. SticJ* to trade. 
Even trade has its romance if you only look 
for it." 



Now is the time when, though the weather freeze, 

Our hearts are warm : 
To all our friends we offer cheerful these, 

In spite of storm. 

1. This never prospers in the end, 'tis said, 
Though without most of it we are not fed. 

2. It should belong to us with head removed. 
And when it Bhines it ought to be improved, 

3. This ceremony may indeed be right, 

But you'd be wrong if right you did it write. 

4. A parish, so I reckon, whereunto 

Those men should haste who wish no work to do. 

5. Take this, and to become so you've a chance : 
Bereft of head, you find it all in France. 

6. Tia all in places where they sing and play. 
And it is all in Italy, they say. 

7. A fruit, that most to masticate would haste, 
If rearranged has quite another taste. 

8. Most eager. Plus a head, a giant see, 
Or, minus head, a brother giant he. 

9. Of weighty but of fishy character. 
They might be called a musical affair. 


by Google 

Answers to Acrostic No. 39 should be addressed to the 
Acrostic Editor, The Strand Magazine, Southampton 
Street, Strand, lx>ndon, IF. 0.2, and must arrivt not later 
than by the first post on January 9th. 

Two answers may be sent U- cv*ry light. 

The result of the sixth series will be published in next 
month's number. 

Original from 

Answer to No. 37. 

1. G ul 


2. bliq 


3. p t i 

4. D run 


Notes.— Light 2. Oblique. 3. Optic, 



Answer to No. 38. 

1. A r m 


2. C uoko 

3. R ee 


4. verm 


6. S c e n 


6. T r i p o 1 


7. I nt 

8. C row 



Notes.— Light 4. Overmuch. 6. Trip. 7. 

In, to, nto* 

The Humour 

Lawson \Vooa 

T no time has the value of 
humour been more appreciated 
than at present. It acts as a 
useful tonicyto the tired nerves 
of a war- worn people. Mr, 
Lawson Wood may justly be 
acclaimed as one of the 
laughter- makers of the world, his huniqrous 
drawings, sketches, and paintings being 
as well known and appreciated 
in Paris, New York, San Francisco, 
and even in Japan, as they- are at 

Lawson Wood is the third in suc- 
cession of a generation of artists, 
being the eldest son of Mr. Pinhom 
Wood, the landscape painter, and 
grandson of the kite Mr, L> J. Wood, 
so well known for his drawings of 
architectural subjects, Little wonder, 
then, that the son of the one and 
grandson of the other should show 
such early talent. It may be men- 
tioned in passing that Lawson Wood 
was born at High gate in August, 
1878, thus making him thirty-nine 
years old at the present day — young 
indeed to have attained his position 
in the world of illustrative art. 

At the age of eighteen he received 
his first appointment, obtaining a 
position on the staff of C Arthur 
Pearson, Ltd. ; and he remained in 
their studios for six years, gaining 
such valuable knowledge of a prac- 
tical kind as only one of the large 
publishing firms ran impart. It 
may be considered certain that here 
he laid the groundwork of that 
strong businesslike capacity to which 
he owes so much of his success in 

At the present time, like so many artists of 
the younger generation, Lawson Wood is 
serving his King and Country in the Army, 
the first picture of this series being a capital 
caricature of himself u spotting " for the 
artillery from a captive balloon, while serving 
with the Royal Flying Corps. His feel'ngs 
at finding himself alone with the Hun shells, 
and his parachute as his only means of escape 

by Google 




Quite early in his career he realized 
the utmost value of really suitable 
titles to his pictures^ as may be 
judged from ki A Fearful Accident/* 
What could better convey the feelings 
of the gentleman from the other side 
of the Tweed than these three fatal 
words as he sees with dismay the luss 
of his best friend ? Or, again, in his 
title u Pinched," beneath an unusual 
composition, showing the acute dis- 
tress of the small boy caught in the 
act of purloining his neighbour's 

This question of titles is a very 
important one, being, in many cases, 
the turning factor in the success or 
failure of a picture from a publishing 
point of view. 

This is only one instance of the 
painstaking care with which Lawson 
Wood puts out his work. 

u Method " is his watchword ! 

Go into his studio, and the first 
thing that strikes one is the orderli- 
ness of everything. There are racks 
to hold the guns and weapons he is 
so fond of collecting, and which 
appear so often in his sketches— 
books of reference on every con- 
ceivable subject Tanged where they 

if hit, may be gathered from his title/* A Bal- 
loonatic in France/' 

He early volunteered under the Derby 
Scheme, joined the Army Service Corps on 10th 
December, 1915, as a cadet at Aldershot, soon 
afterwards obtaining his commission. After a 
short training with the Army Service Corps 
he transferred to the Flying Corps, passed all 
the tests successfully, and finally was sent 
across the Channel, where he is now u Doing 
his Bit," at the same time sending over a 
drawing or two as time and the enemy permit. 

His early life was spent in the little rural 
village of Shere, in Surrey, so well-beloved of 
artists, and it may be wondered if the picture 
"Hot Stuff "is a reminiscence of his school- 
days, though no one would for one moment 
suggest that it is the young Wood playing the 
principal role, 

Law.son Wood's early studies were pursued 
at the Slade School of Art, at Heat her ley's, 
and later he attended a few night classes at 
Frank Calderon's School of Animal Painting, 
though he frankly confesses to lacing really a 
self-made artist , as his attendances were some- 
what intermittent and extended in all over a 
period of borclv three vears. f 

1 "Digitized by (jOOQK 

l J^ 




"a fearful accident.' 




can be of use at any moment. Nothing 
is-allowed on these shelves that is not of 
practical use. 

Industrious to a degree, he has many a 
notebook filled from cover to cover with 
little interesting sketches in pencil, which 
are often introduced as backgrounds to 
his pictures. Sometimes it may be a 
village street of quaint houses, again a 
rustic bridge, or, perhaps, even a fence 
and stile with a tangle of hedge \vhn*c 
outlines appeal to him. For none knows 
better than Laws on Wood that it is just 
these to u dies of reality that help to make 
the whole picture convincing, though he 
generally depends on the humour of his 
figures to carry his story 7 to the public. 

His first step on the mad to fame was 
gained with his prehistoric subjects, well 
exemplified in this article with t4 Blind 
Man's Buff/ 1 showing one of his skittish 
antediluvian monsters, who certainly does 
not play the game, as he draws on one 
side the bandage from his eyes, much to 
the terror of his victim* " Where's My 
Egg ? "another example of Lawson Wood's 
early wwk, clearly point to the danger 
and apprehension of the first collector of 
birds* eggs, The other " prehistoric," 


+yr;?<?'-3irr- '■ rfPVgafrt/pqfm 

*'bund man's buff: an eye to business 

3 y Google 

entitled ** Come Out, You Coward/ 1 
showing one more of these fearsome 
beasts run amok amid the early bathing- 
machines, is an excellent example of 
his combined gifts of artistic sense and 

Another of Lawson Wood's whimsi- 
calities, and one he is keen to develop, 
is pictured in " First Advances/ 1 To his 
mind, the monkey tribe opens up a very 
big field for humour, as by depicting them 
clothed in human attire, with all the 
follies and frailties of the man and 
woman of to-day t they offer an endless 
scope for satire. 

Many have asked the question, " Does 
Lawson Wood use models ? " He does, 
and he does not ! To explain such a con- 
tra diction, he uses models more for detail 
than the actual posing of the complete 
figure; as he says, his real models are 
in the world around him: in omnibuses, 
streets, and trains, wherever he may be ; 
in fact, in all places and at all times he is 
gathering into his mental note-hook types 
to be reproduced later, though in, per- 
haps, a somewhat exaggerated form. I Jut 
how often one sees a figure which instantly 
suggests a type from one of his pictures ! 




most difficult part to decide 
in making a picture of this 

His sketches have been pub- 
lished at soMe time or other' 
in every illustrated paper in 
London, and many of his 
posters have appeared with 
striking effect on the hoardings. 

His rendering of (t Dignity 
and Impudence/' wluch ap- 
pears on the opposite page 
under the title *' A Friendly 
Hint/' is typical of that facility 
of expression which makes the 
real Laws on Wood picture. It 
is difficult sometimes to say 
what it is in his humorous 
compositions which so irre- 
sistibly appeals to one; but it 
must be conceded that it is the, 
note of broad farce combined 


Take his burly policemen. 
Lawson Wood is beloved of 
the " Force/' and yet he has 
satirized them in every con- 
ceivable form j but with one 
outstanding feature of the 
work— that he is always 
humorous and yet never 
unkind or cruch 

The simplicity of treat- 
ment in his pictures is 
distinctly deceiving; taking 
one of these seemingly spon- 
taneous sketches, it seems 
incredible that much time 
can have been spent on the 
work, and yet it is just the 
most careful study given to 
the preliminary stages that 
enables the artist to compose 
his picture with certainty 
and case, as it is only by 
having a complete command 
of the details that one is 
able to know just how much [ mT 
to leave out — perhaps the 

Digitized by LiOOgI 




with the sense of reality with which he 
depicts his subjects and which he imparts to 
the expressions of his characters, 


Small Bovt u 'Old yer chest back a bit, colonel, or ytr 
ivun*t 'it the doim in ihe middle !" 

tense feeling; but once having been accepted 

Like most artists, Lawson Wood has his as a humorous painter, the public expect 
serious moments, and is never happier ihan laughter-making pictures , and will liave 
when painting pictures with pathos and in- nothing else. 


by Google 

Original from 



Illust rated oy Arthur Garrett. 




saturnine melancholy was pro- 
nounced as hg: took the ehair 
at the forty-fourth monthly 
meeting of the Problem Club. 
lk Well, gent 1 en urn/' fie be- 
gan, " the waiters are sup- 
posed to have left the room, but in view of 
the nature of the problem before us to-night 
you would probably wish to be quite sure on 
the point Will somebody kindly examine 
the screen by the waiters* entrance ? " 

Mr. Quill ian^ KX-, reported that no waiter 
was concealed, and further that the door was 
locked. , 

M Thank you, my learned friend. Leonard 
— admirable as a head- waiter, ingenious and 
generally innocuous as the inventor of our 
problems— has on this occasion undergone 
a mora! lapse. I will give you the words 
of this lamentable problem : * It is required 
within the space of one hour to kiss upon 

Copyright, 1917, 

the cheek ten females of the age of courtship 
and not cousins or any nearer relative of 
the kisser, without giving offence to any one 
of them. 

u Major Byles protested against this problem 
on the ground that it gave an unfair advan- 
tage to the young and unattached. The 
Rev, Septimus Cunliffe seconded the protest 
on the ground that, broad -minded though he 
was, after all there was a limit, A vote 
being taken, it was found — to the eternal 
shame of the club, if I may say so — that there 
was a considerable majority in favour of 
the problem being retained/ 1 

Every member being well aware that the 
chairman himself had voted with the majority, 
there was some hilarious interruption. 

" Gentlemen/' said the chairman, severely, 
" this is not the spirit in which to approach 
stories of wrecked homes and blasted repu- 
tationSj and these stories we must now hear. 
I observe that Mr, Quill i an has had his face 




scratched recently, doubtless the work of 
outraged modesty, but before I " 

" I really must protest/' said Mr. Quillian. 
u The slight marks on my left cheek are not 
scratches, but were caused — as they say at 
the inquests — by some blunt instrument, 
to wit, a safety razor." 

" Well," the chairman continued, " you 
will have an opportunity later to explain 
how the girl got hold of the razor. I will 
begin with some of our younger Lotharios. 
What have you to tell us, Mr. Feldane ? " 

The Hon. James Feldane put down his 
cigarette, and spoke wearily : " It's like 
this, you know. I claim to have won unless 
my score's beaten. Ten in an hour is an 
impossible demand on the part of our friend 
Leonard, and I doubt if bogey would be more 
than four. May I take it that I win, if I 
am nearest to Leonard's figure ? " 

11 That is so. Continue your loathsome 

"It's strictly masonic and all that, ain't 

" Mr.' Feldane may be assured that his 
hideous secret will die with us," said the 
chairman. " The club rule of secrecy has 
never yet been broken." 

"That being so, I'll get on. I'd planned 
it all for a dance I was going to, and I'd 
put in a deal of conscientious preliminary 
work, getting certain girls up to a certain 
mark, if you understand what I mean. On 
the appointed night a perfectly dear old 
thing with two daughters some years older 
than myself called to take me on to that 
dance. They've known me ail my life. 
They knew me when I'd got golden curls 
and played with a wool rabbit. They're 
no sort of relation, and so they count for the 
purpose of this competition. Well, I've 
always kissed them when we met, and I 
kissed them that time £6 soon as I boarded 
the car. So when we got to the house where 
the dance was I was three up and still, had 
fifty-three minutes to go." 

Here Feldane was interrupted by an appeal 
to the chairman. It was made by his friend 
Hesseltine, a tall and dark young man, as 
good-looking as Feldane himself, though of 
a very different type. 

41 Mr. Chairman," said Hesseltine, " before 
Jimmy goes any further I should like to ask 
for your ruling. The mother of those two 
girls is to my certain knowledge sixty-two 
years of age. I claim that Jimmy cannot score 
her, as she is above the age of courtship." 

14 Sorry, Mr. Hesseltine, but your claim 
is disallowed. It has been well observed 

Digitized by W 

that a man is as old as he feels but that a 
woman is rather younger than she doesn't 
look. There is no historical instance of any 
woman being over the age of courtship." 

" Then I'm pipped," said Hesseltine, 
gloomily. " Go on, Jimmy." 

" I kissed four more in the time left me, 
but one of them told me that she would 
never speak to me again, and so I can't 
count her, though it's what she always 
says. I was done by the time limit. You 
can't in decency kiss a girl and then do an 
immediate bunk. You must keep on telling 
hef how maddeningly beautiful she is for a 
few minutes. Besides, at a dance you can't 
always find the girl you want at the moment 
you want her. Still, I claim a score of six." 

" The claim is allowed. And what was 
your sad experience, Mr. Hesseltine ? " 

14 MucK the same as Jimmy's. I went to 
the same dance. I also played the friends- 
of-my-childhood, but I could only raise five 
of them. So Jimmy's one ahead. If you 
had disallowed his old lady we should have 
tied. I might add that, being rather carried 
away, I got engaged to two different girls 
in the course of the hour, and though it's 
all right now, I don't monkey with a buzz- 
saw again. The next kiss problem will find 
little Bobby seated with the spectators." 

" Possibly," said the chairman, " the 
finesse and experience of riper years will 
have accomplished more than the attractions 
of untutored youth. May I interrupt your 
secretarial duties, Sir Charles ? " 

Sir Charles laid down his pencil, smiled, 
and shook his head. " This time you must 
place me also with the spectators," he said, 
and quoted an apt line of Horace. 

" It is seldom that you miss. I wish* Mr. 
Harding Pope, that I could say the same of 
you. What have you done this time to 
redeem yourself ? " 

44 What could I do ? " said Mr. Pope, 
with an oratorical gesture. " I represent a 
Nonconformist constituency which is not 
tolerant of the least laxity in the private 
life of its member. The mere suspicion that 
I had taken part in a competition of this kind 
might end my political career." 

44 Possibly. Failure to take part in the 
next competition will actually end your 
career as a member of this club, as you will 
see if you refer to rule eleven. The club 
does not regard onlookers as sportsmen. I 
suppose, Major Byles, since you protested 
against the problem, that for the first time 
in your membership you have failed to 

COmpete.?Vi n i n a I frn m 




" That is so, but my protest had very 
little to do with it. Matter of fact, I had a 
superstitious idea that it might change my 
luck if I gave a miss this time. 9 ' 

" Then I will turn to Dr. Alden. What 
was your adventure, doctor ? " 

11 Mine was more a tragedy than an adven- 
ture," said the doctor. " On the evening 
of Sunday the twelfth, acting on information 
received, I presented myself at the residence 
of my married sister. She said that I must 
have forgotten that she was entertaining 
the girls of her Tennyson Club that night, 
and that she had never wanted me less, but 
tliat as I was there I could stop. I stopped, 
that being what I had come for. Her sug- 
gestion that her husband and myself, the 
only two males present, should go off to the 
billiard-room after supper, was negatived by 
both of us. In accordance with plan I then 
directed the conversation to the subject of 
face-powder, condemning it on scientific 
grounds and maintaining that it deceived 
nobody. My sister said that it was not 
intended to deceive, but that as' a matter of 
fact no man would ever detect it unless it 
had been put on with a shovel. I said that 
on the contrary, given a certain condition, 
any man with a scientific training could 
detect it with his eyes shut. 

11 Several of the girls asked me how. This 
was not unexpected. 

" I replied that he would only have to 
touch with his lips a cheek on which there 
was face-powder and he would know it 
instantly and infallibly. 

" My sister said she did not believe a word 
of it. 

u My answer was that I could easily prove 
it. Let them blindfold me. Then twelve 
times in succession let a cheek touch my 
lips. In each case I would state whether 
or not face-powder had been used, and would 
employ no other means of detection. I was 
so certain of it that I would gladly con- 
tribute a guinea to the charitable fund of 
the Tennyson Club for every mistake that 
I made. 

" My sister said that it was very easy to 
make an impossible offer that could not be 
accepted. Somewhat to my surprise the 
prettiest girl there said that she did not think 
it an impossible offer at all. It was a scien- 
tific experiment and might benefit a very 
good cause. I would never know the identity 
of the twelve who took part in the experiment. 
Its very publicity made it innocuous. But I 
should have to give them a little time to 
"nch were the twelve to be sacrificed 


and the order in which they were to present 
themselves. To this I at once agreed. 

" I was put in a chair and blindfolded — 
really blindfolded. I need hardly tell the 
members of this club that my claim to be 
able to detect the presence of face-powder 
in the way indicated was a piece of monu- 
mental spoof. This did not alarm me. I 
could not lose more than twelve guineas, 
and I was out to win our prize of one hundred 
and ten pounds. I could assign my mistakes 
to the fact that I had just smoked a cigarette, 
thus spoiling the delicacy of my perception. 

" I heard a sound of whispering and sup- 
pressed laughter as the girls held their con- 
sultation, and then the experiment began 
in silence broken only by the rustle of feminine 
garments. Twelve times in succession I 
felt a gentle touch upon my lips, and never 
once did I fail to take advantage of it. I gave 
six decisions for face-powder and six against, 
and was just thinking how I would spend 
the hundred and ten pounds when I heard 
a roar of laughter. I tore off the bandage 
and asked what was the matter. 

" As soon as they could speak they told 
me. The only person that I had kissed on 
all twelve occasions was my own sister. 
Sometimes she had touched my lips with 
her cheek, on which there was face-powder, 
and sometimes with the back of her hand, 
on which there was none. And nine times 
I had been mistaken in my diagnosis. The 
treasurer of the charitable fund — she was the 
pretty girl of whom I have spoken — collected 
the money. Then they all resumed their 
merriment, and no excuse for my mistakes 
was ever heard. 

" All things considered, I think t have a 
fair claim for a consolation prize." 

" The club does not give prizes of that 
description," said the chairman. " But I 
can offer you our sympathy, which is more 
valuable than mere money. I will now call 
upon Mr. Quillian." 

Mr Quillian adjusted his pince-nez. " I 
will ask the chairman's permission to argue 
that the whole of this competition is null and 
void, and that the prize should be added to 
that for the next competition." 

" I will hear you, Mr. Quillian, but you 
must be brief and to the point. You are 
not in court now, you know." 

41 If you please, I submit that a kiss 
has a psychical as well as a physical side, 
and that kisses for competition purposes 
are so deficient on the psychical or emotional 
side that they cannot be considered as kisses 
in the ordiriary sense of the word," 





*' 1 do not admit that. Possibly the com- 
petition kiss does not come up to the standard 
demanded by a voluptuary like my learned 
friend, but it is still a kiss. If he kissed this 
match- box , it would be a kiss and could not 
be described otherwise, although presumably 
the emotional side would he absent. Enough 
of these legal quibbles. I will now ask Mr, 
Matthews if he has been as successful in the 
I>art of Lothario as he invariably is in that of 

Mr. Matthews, the club epicure, said that 
a decent upbringing had caused him to fail 
in a shameful enterprise, and gave his account 
of it. 

He advertised in the name of Mrs. Elsmere 
Twiss, giving an accommodation address, for 
a companion to an elderly lady. The salary 
offered was magnificent, and it was intimated 
that accomplishments would be less valued 
than youthful charm and an affectionate 
nature. Applicants were to enclose photo- 

Ten of the applicants — and it is to be feared 

Digitized by VjOOglC 

that they were the ten whose photographs 
were the most attractive— were given an 
appointment with Mrs, Elsmere Twiss at a 
West-end hotel on a certain day. On the 
morning of that day Mr- Matthews placed 
himself in the hands of a famous cos- 
tumier, who had guaranteed to convert 
him into such an excellent imitation of 
an old lady that even at close quarters 
the disguise would not be detected, The 
costumier spent two hours on effecting a 
most artistic transformation and then, 
after submitting himself to the photog- 
rapher in attendance, Mr, Matthews drove 
off to the hotel. A passer-by who had 
happened to glance into the cab might 
have observed a sweet - looking old lady 
smoking a large cigar- 
He now proceeded to interview the selected 
ten, it being his abominable intention to kiss 
each applicant as he said good-bye to her. 

The first applicant to be brought in from 
the waiting-room was Miss Grace Porter, 
Everything went well until the moment tame 
for the affectionate good-bye. But then it 
chanced that Miss Porter dropped her hand- 

Now Mr. Matthews had from the nursery 
upwards been taught habits of politeness, and 
his decent upbringing now proved his undoing. 
Forgetting that he was supposed to be an 
elderly lady and the girl's prospective em- 
ployer, he flew to pick up that handkerchief. 
And as he stooped his hat and wig fell off* 
For a few awful moments he remained 
stooping, waiting fur Miss Porter's scream. 
But no scream came. She had realized that 
Mrs. Elsmere Twiss wore a wig> but not that 
she was a man. And the tactful Miss Porter 
had retired &f^if|ltf fflSffl- 



Mr. Matthews was safe, but 
his nerve was gone. He replaced 
the hat and wig, and sent a 
waiter with a message to the 
remaining applicants. 

When Mr, Matthews had 
finished his story two other 
members narrated how they had 
conspired together to get thte 
game of kiss-in-the-ring played 
at a rectory garden-party and 
had failed miserably, 

" Now the only member left/' 
said the chairman, "is Mr.'Cun- 
lifle, and as he protested against 
the problem , and will not have 
competed " 

" Pardon me/ 'said the sonorous 
and ecclesiastical voice of the 
Rev. Septimus Cunliffc, " I have 
not only competed, but I claim 
to be the winner." 

*' One moment. This is a shock, 
and some restorative seems in- 
dicated. 5 * The chairman fetrlird 
himself a brand y-and- soda from 
the side -table and resumed, 
" Now, if the reverend gentle- 
man will continue the account 
of his exploits— ,s 

" It has pained me to hear to- 
night aspersions on the character 
of our admirable Leonard, I 
admit that when I first heard the 
problem I was myself inclined 
to misjudge him, But on examining it more 
closely I saw that never had he risen to a 
higher pitch of austere, though cynical, 
morality. I saw that he intended that this 
prize should be won by the most high-minded 
member of the Club— by the man whose mind 
was the least obsessed by thoughts of frivolity 
or flirtation." 

11 Might I suggest/' said the chairman 
" that you should stop throwing bouquets to 
yourself, and tell us about these ten women 
that you've kissed ? " 

4 That is precisely my point. Leonard 
does not say women. He does not say girls. 
He says females. My aunt is interested in 
smoke-grey Persian cats. She breeds them 
and deals in them on behalf of a charity, and 
you will generally find thirty or forty of them 
at her house. It is unhygienic to kiss cats, 
but I kissed ten of them, and my aunt was 
greatly pleased at this unusual demonstration 
of affection for her pets. Some of them seemed 
slightly bored , but not one was offended, 
When a cat is offended it tells you so, They 

Digitized by Gt 




were of an age for courtship — by males of 
their own species. Briefly j the cats and I 
conformed in all respects with the require- 
ments of the problem." 

** Gentlemen," said the chairman, " the 
subtlety of our theologian has overcome you. 
Our cheque for one hundred and ten pounds 
will be drawn to the order of Mr. Septimus 

14 1 will now read out the problem which will 
next engage your attention. It is entitled 
' The Free Weal Problem/ It is required 
within the space of twenty-four consecutive 
hours to be the guest of one person at break- 
fast , of another at luncheon, and of a third at 
dinner, the host being in each case a person 
whom the competitor has not to his knowledge 
seen, and with whom he has held no communi- 
cation pre nous to the sunrise preceding the 
meal. No direct request for a meal may be 
made and no remuneration may be given in 
return for any meal. 

" The adjudicator will be my learned friend 

Mr, Quillian," 

^ Ungmal from 




On a recent occasion some German prisoners on 
being brought in were found to be in a half-starved 
condition, and our men served them out a generous 
ration. One of the Huns was so gratified that he 
exclaimed, " Ach ! Fed big ! " Whether he meant 
to imply that he had had a " big feed," or that he 

considered himself a 
"fed pig,' 1 is not 
known. The interest- 
ing point is that those 
three words are formed 
from the first nine 
letters of the alphabet, 
and probably no other 
sentence can beformed 
from them. So I find 


it convenient to use 
them in this little 

Place nine counters, 
marked respectively 
and I, in the positions 
shown in the smaller 
diagram, and then 
move them one at a 
time from square to 
square until you have 
them in the' position shown in the larger diagram. Of 
course, no diagonal moves are allowed. Thus, the. 
first move must be with B, then A or H may move to 
the vacant Square, and so on. The point is to do it 
in twenty-eight moves. You will quickly do it in a 
larger number, but it requires a little judgment and 
patience to bring about the arrangement in the 
minimum number of moves. 












A correspondent informs me that two brothers 
of his acquaintance had to go a journey and arrive at 
the same time. They had only a single bicycle, which 
they rode in turns, each rider leaving it in the hedge 
when he dismounted for the one walking behind to 
pick up, and walking ahead himself, to be again over- 
taken. What, he asks, was their best way of arranging 
their distances ? As he states that their walking and 
riding speeds were the same, it is extremely easy. 
Simply divide the route into any even number of equal 
stages and drop the bicycle at every stage, using the 
cyclometer. Each man would then walk half-way and 
nde half-way. 

But here is a case that will require a little more 
thought. Anderson and Brown have to go twenty 
miles and arrive at exactly the same time. They have 
only one bicycle. Anderson can only walk four miles 
an hour, while Brown can walk five miles an hour, but 
Anderson can ride ten miles an hour to Brown's eight 
miles an hour. How are they to arrange the journey ? 
Each man always either walks or rides at the speeds 
mentioned, without any rests. 

Can you interpret the following ? It is a beautiful 
language, and if you have never heard it, you are to 
be pitied. If you recognize it, it will produce pleasur- 
able emotions, and you will be able to appreciate this 

Vol. .v.-e. 

remarkable record — the cleverest and most exact that 
has ever been made. Try to read this aloud as quickly 
as possible in something between a whisper and a 
whistle : — 

Tiou, tiou, tiou, tiou — Spe, tioi), squa — Tid, tio, tio, 
tid, tid, tid, do, tix — Coutio, coutio, coutio, coutio — 
Squo, squo, squo, squo — Tzu, tzu, tzu, tzu, tzu, tzu, tzu, 
tzu, tzu, tzi — Corror, tiou, squa, pipiqui — Zozozozo- 
ZQzozozozozozozo, zirrhading— Tsissisi, tsissisisisisisisis— 
Dzorre, dzorre, dzorre, tzatu, dzi — Dlo, dlo, dlo, dlo, 
dlo, dlo, dlo, dlo, dlo — Quio, trrrrrrrrr itz — Lu, lu, lu, 
lu, ly, ly, ly, ly, US, lid, lid, lid— Quio didl li lulylie — 
Hagurr, gurr, quipio — Coui, coui, coui, coui, qui, qui, 
qui, gai, gui, gui, gui— Goll, goll, goll, goll guia 
hadadoi — Conigui, horr, ha diadia dill si — Hezezezeze- 
zezezezezezezezezezezeze couar ho dze hoi — Quia, quia, 
quia, quia, quia, quia, quia, quia, ti Ki, ki, ki, to, 10, 10, 
ioioioio ki — Lu ly li le lai la leu lo, didl 10, quia — 
Kigaigaigaigaigaigaigai guiagaigaigai couior dzio dzio pi. 

HERE is a queer little puzzle. When once you have 

hit on the idea, which you will probably do in a very 

few minutes, the 

carrying of it out 

successfully will 

be found quite 

entertaining. Place 

six queens on the 

reduced chess- 
board, as shown. 

Now, the six 

queens have in 

turn to occupy in 

a straight line 

every row, every 

column, and each 

of the two long 

diagonals, revisit- 
ing the row upon which they at present stand, in 

as few queen moves as possible. How many moves 

do you require ? 

Mason and Jackson were playing with three dice. 

The player won whenever the numbers thrown added 

up to one of two numbers he selected at the beginning 

of the game. As a matter of fact, Mason selected 

seven and thirteen, and one of his winning throws is 
shown in the illustration. What were his chances of 
winning a throw ? And what two other numbers 
should Jackson have selected for his own throws to 
make his chances of winning exactly equal ? 

I AM a word of five letters. Multiply my fifth by 
two and you have my first. Divide my first by twenty 
and you have my third. Divide my third by five and 
you have my second \md fourth. 





In every one of the following sentences is buried 
something geographical, such as a town or country. 
Thus, in the sentence, " Grandpapa rises at seven 
every morning," Paris is buried, as indicated by the 
italicized letters. 

1 should be proud to entertain such a guest. 

We eat the melon, but the rind gets thrown to the 

From wax tapers I anticipate a saving of gas. 

His overwrought exasperation filled the enemy with 
' dismay. 

The escaping prisoners crossed the river on a raft. 

I must go somewhere for dinner. 

Wine I hope, but water I expect. 

We must feed our cows with hay till next June. 

He must cross the Atlantic or keep quiet. 

When the war began I ceased to engage in sport. 

To a man under age no agreement is binding. 

I met my great aunt on the tube railway. 

The wounded were brought in in nine vehicles. 

Puzzles from a Secret Drawer. 
Solutions to Last Month's Posers. 

'*/« my first, my second sat, my third and fourth / 71V." 
.The italicized words give the answer — " Insatiate." 

Lady Anne's share of the ten yards was 6J yards, 
and the three-fifths of this length required by the 
daughter was 3} yards. 

Call the two ropes A and B. First tie the ends of 
A and B securely together. Then climb A and cut 
off B, leaving sufficient to tie a loop. Hanging with 
your arm through this loop, cut off A as high as you 
can reach, pull the severed A through the loop until 
you come nearly to the knot joining B, and descend 
by the doubled rope. Then pull through the loop and 
you have secured the greatest possible length of both 
ropes. If any reader should attempt to make use of 
this information for criminal purposes we can only 
hope that he will accidentally let fall the rope A after 
he has cut it through ! 

It should be perfectly clear that as the man made 
no extra profit by selling the second box, he must be 
selling it at cost price. Therefore, the difference 
between ninepence and fifteen pence — sixpence — must 
be the price that each box cost him. 


The word is LACE. L is fifty and an ace is one. 


A glance at the illustration will show that if you 

could cut off the portion of wall marked 1 and place 

it in the position indicated by 2, you would have a 

piece of straight wall, B C, enclosed by the dotted 


lines, exactly similar to the wall A B. Therefore, both 
men were wrong, and the price should be the same 
for the portion of wall that went over the hill as for 
the part on the level. Of course, the reader 'will see 
at a glance that this will only apply within a certain 
limitation. But Betty Marchant gave us an actual 
drawing of the wall to go upon. * 


That Eastern monarch was a sly dog. He simply 
rolled up the carpet until he was able to reach the cup ! 

The seven things illustrated are as follows, arranged 
conveniently, with the items to be added in the first 
column and the items to be. subtracted in the second 
column:— p ST — POT 


Now, if you deduct POT from POST, you have an S 
remaining in the first column. Add this S to HOE 
and one SHOE deducted from the other leaves nothing. 
Then if we deduct the last three letters in TWIG from 
WIG, we have a T left over in the second column to 
subtract from TENT, which clearly leaves us TEN 
as the required answer. 

There must have been one bushel and one-ninth 
before the toll was taken. One-tenth of this is one- 
ninth of a bushel, which, on being deducted, would 
leave one bushel as stated. 

Call the three missionaries Mmm, and the three 
cannibals C c c, the capitals denoting the missionary 
and the cannibal who can row the boat. Then C c row 
across ; C returns with the boat ; C c row across ; 
C returns ; M m row across ; M c return ; M C row 
across ; M c return ; M m row across ; C returns ; 
C c row across ; C returns ; C c row across ; and all 
have crossed the river within the conditions stated. 

THERE must have been nine hundred persons in 
all. One hundred wagons started off with nine 
persons in each wagon. After ten wagons had broken 
down, there would be ten persons in every wagon — 
** one more/' As lifteen more wagons had to be 
withdrawn on the home journey, each of the remaining 
seventy-five wagons would carry twelve persons — 
" three more than when they started out in the 


Since the lower scales told us that one apple and 
six plums equalled in weight one pear, we can sub- 
stitute one apple and six plums for the pear in the 
upper scales, without disturbing the balance. Now 
we can remove six plums from each pan of the upper 
scales and find that four apples equal four plums. 
Consequently, one apple equals one plum, and if we 
substitute a plum for the apple in the lower scales, as 
they originally stood, we see that seven plums equal 
in weight one pear. As the old books say, Q. E. D. 
— quite easily done ! _ 

Fourteen pins is the greatest number that can be 
stuck into the dots without there being two pins on 
any line. Stick eight of the pins in the top outside 
row and six in the bottom outside row, leaving the 
two bottom corners vacant. There are two hundred 
and fifty-six different ways of sticking in the pins, but 
every pin must be on an outside dot, if we are to get 
in as manv as fourteen^ fr^m 

■■-■ I I L| 1 1 10 I I I '-• I 1 1 





Illustrated by Treycr Evans. 

i v 

X Jane's set (if you can have a 
" set " that refuses to have 
you) the name of " Jane " was 
a handicap to begin with. 

All the other girls were Dorises 
and Gladyses and Irenes, and 
that sort of thing ; or if their 
parents had been blessed with 
soaring imagination, they were Maryllas, Darynes, 
or Carolas. At worst they were Margarets and 
Katharines. There was no other Jane than 
Jane Craik. # 

Ivy Dolan said that the name " Jane Craik " 
gave you the creeps in your teeth, just like the 
scraping of a bad slate-pencil on a cheap slate. 
And at the same time she said something even 
worse : that the name just suited Jane herself. 

Jane had two pretty sisters. She was the 
youngest, but looked the oldest, because Con- 
stance was dark and dimpled and plump, and 
Lilian was plump and dimpled and fair. They 
both had pink cheeks, and their hair curled 
naturally. Jane was very tall, very thin, and 
neither dark" nor fair. She had straight, rust- 
brown hair, and no colour in her cheeks, except 
when she was angry. But this was not olten. 
Her family suppressed her too firmly, these 
tall, thin girls being more easy to suppress, in 
a short family, than you would think. Once 
they're made to feel themselves celery-stalks 
in a bed of grass-pinks the work is done. They 
stoop, to conceal their height. They poke their 
chins, become awkward, unhappy, and self- 
conscious. Then they are lost as personalities 
— unless there should be some violent upheaval. 
And this is the story of an upheaval. 

Father and mother Craik were not rich, though 
they lived in London, where if you do not get 
on you had better get out. Father Craik cor- 
rected printers' proofs in the office of an old- 
fashioned publisher. He had done this for 
many years, having married too young to venture 
out of safe ways. He had grown elderly in 
11 printer's pie." It was, he often observed, 
pleasanter than being in the soup. 

" Mother's " husband had given her that 
name for the first time at the age of twenty- 
two, when the pair became parents of a baby 

Copyright, 1917, by 

boy. There had been seven babies since, and, 
though four had died in an epidemic, mother 
had kept too busy being a mother to do outside 
work ; otherwise she felt that she might have 
been a famous musician and coined money. 
As there was no piano in the flat the family 
could not dispute this statement. 

Each of the girls went to school till she was 
nearly seventeen, whereupon it was time to assume 
the burden of life and suppqrt herself. Luckily, 
supporting herself did not turn out a burden for 
Con or Lil. Con was ambitious. She had taken 
up shorthand and typing while at school, and 
had become expert. She found a place as steno- 
grapher in the publishing house where her 
father worked, earned good money, and didn't 
think it selfish to spend her salary on clothes. 
In her position, one had to look nice ! 

Lil was telephone, girl in a fashionable hotel. 
She began behind the scenes, doing unobtrusive 
duty when people 'phoned from their rooms. 
But she had something about her which was 
bound to get to the front. Before long she 
could be seen seated behind a polished mahogany 
shelf on which men leaned, often looking at her 
instead of looking up numbers in the telephone 
book. She, like Con, earned good money, had 
presents of chocolates, and went four nights a 
week to the cinema. 

Jane it was who had no luck. 

Not having luck began when she was chris- 
tened. They named the child after a maiden 
aunt of mother's, who had grown rich dress- 
making, and had been annoyed because none 
of her niece's elder offspring were named in her 
honour. But out of sheer spite, or because she'd 
always meant to, she left everything when she 
died to an orphan asylum in her town. So 
there was Jane, stranded as Jane, with nothing 
to show for it ! 

Jane's family was a handsome family, and they 
were sorry for her because she grew up plain. 
She had to wear her sisters' made-over clothes, 
which were unbecoming. Con was wonderful 
in orange, bottle green, royal blue, and scarlet. 
Lil was adorable in mauve, pale pink, and the 
tint of forget-me-nots. Both admitted that 
poor Jane was shockirig in all, but it couldn't 

Mrs. c p|.j^Cf^Y OF MICHIGAN 



Till!*, M, 

every ;. 

italic i/i 
1 V 
\\- ■ 







by Google 

" Original from 



just as well, because, if he knew, he would not 
be interested; perhaps he would even be dis- 
gusted. Better his eyes should never meet hers 
than turn away in distaste. 

One morning everything had gone wrong 
with Jane from the moment she got out of bed. 
It was hot summer weather ; the family was 
cross ; the mannequins and manageress were 
cross. An important client was dissatisfied 
with a dress copied from a model, and threatened 
a law suit. The cleverest designer of blouses 
had married suddenly and left at a day's notice, 
just when advance autumn styles should be 
ready to show. A strike of skirt hands was 
threatened, and altogether the atmosphere 
behind scenes was heavy with storm. Luckily 
for jangled nerves the dress salon was rather 
quiet. Such customers as came were fussy and 
hard to please (they were always like that on , 
days of high temperature), but there was no 
crowd. Jane had dressed Ivy Dolan, the red- 
haired mannequin generally chosen to show off 
pale green or black* and was " standing by " 
with a box of pins while a fat inginue of thirty 
suggested changes to give an evening gown a 
" more youthful look." Jane was not thinking 
about the pins, or Ivy, or the customer. She 
was thinking of Tom Burns, le prince lointain, 
wondering whether he were away, as he had not 
1 been in for a long time, when suddenly he 

He was with a lady, an extraordinary-looking 
lady. At first glance Jane thought she was one 
of the plainest as well as queerest-looking women 
she'd ever seen, almost as plain and queer as 
herself, if it weren't for marvellous clothes. 
But with the second glance (coming back from 
a stolen one at Burns) she was not sure of the 
plainness. There was something that struck - 
you about the towering figure, the dead-white 
face, the glittering fire-red hair. And, anyhow, 
there was no doubt about the clothes. They 
were chic as the inmost heart of Paris. 

Tom Burns never came with ordinary custo- 
mers, only with important wholesale buyers 
from provincial houses. His present companion 
was unlike any buyer ever seen at Silsby and 
Burns. When Tom had found her a comfortable 
and becoming chair near a mirror he sought 
Miss Greville. 

She was busy. Her job was to persuade the 
ingbiue of thirty that the dancing frock on Ivy 
Dolan could be made " young enough " with 
little change. But the look on Burns's face 
caused her to call a colleague next in authority, 
as if to ask advice. Then, while it was being 
given,"she slipped away. 

" I'd have 'phone'd if I'd had time," hastily 
explained Tom, " but she didn't give me time. 
She burst on me like a bombshell, and insisted 
on my bringing her straight from my office 

" She ? " echoed Miss Greville. 

" I thought maybe you'd spotted who she is. 
You've heard of Elsa de Windt ? " 

" I should say I had ! The woman who buys 
for Martin Fall, and gets three thousand a year 1 
Everybody in the business knows about her. 

Digitized by Vj* 

She's always in the papers. But she never 
buys except in P£ris." J 

" She's going to this time, if we can suit her 
fancy. I met her in Paris — not in business. 
She — I — she'd put a niece on the stage over 
there who was rather a friend of mine. This 
morning she appeared like a bolt from the blue, 
and said our ' all English ' stint might be worth 
her while working up, the way she felt about the 
sea (' nasty big wet thing,' she called it !), if 
we had anything fit to be seen. But she's 
an awful crank. I'm scared out of my life — 
scared as if I were driving a new make of motor 
I didn't understand, along a road. with Jack 
Johnsons bursting at the rate of three a minute." 

" My 1 " breathed Miss Greville. " Well, we 
must do our best, Mr. Burns," 

11 We must. If she buys at all, she'll buy 
big. She wants something of everything, so 
far as I can gather ; not dresses only, but blouses 
and mantles, even hats. She's a sort of ' Uni- 
versal Provider ' for Martin Fall. He trusts 
her taste as if she had him hypnotized. Now 
I'll introduce you, Miss Greville. We mustn't 
keep her waiting." 

Miss Elsa de Windt, leaning back in a Chester- 
field chair of grey velvet, was polite in the manner 
of a queen to a subject. Kate Greville was 
impressed, in spite of herself, but she " sensed " 
that the condescending' royalty would turn out 
a tough proposition. 1 

" What do I want ? " Elsa echoed a question, 
fastening green eyes upon the head saleswoman, 
" Oh, everything — or nothing. Except tailor- 
mades ! Don't show me those. I'm in a 
picturesque mood — morning gowns, afternoon 
gowns, evening gowns, house gowns, street 
gowns, niglig&es, sant de lits, and so on ad lib — 
if they're right. But they must be just right. 
If you disappoint me at the start, I warn you 
I shall lose patience." 

" Shall we begin with dance frocks?" sug- 
gested Miss Greville, her spine 1 cold despite the 
hea.t. - " We have some exclusive picture models 
just in from our atelier." 

11 If you wish," agreed the distinguished one, 
looking like a tawny tigress with little appetite 
but willing to be tempted. 

The inginue had bought the apple-green 
gown displayed by the red-haired mannequin, 
consequently — and fortunately, it seemed to 
Miss Greville — Ivy Dolan was free. Those 
copper curls should appeal to Elsa de Windt, 
whose own locks were blatant carrot colour. 

Underneath the green tulle Ivy was clad in 
a thin, well-fitting robe that resembled a delicate 
lining. Jane quickly put the plump form into 
a foam of cream and roses, and the result was 
paraded before Miss de Windt. Meanwhile 
Jane wAs busy again, dressing Lina Wernher 
in vieux rose ; Dolly Partridge in clematis 
purple with gold fringe ; Emmeline Eaves in 
elephant's-breath grey, with silver lace ; and 
getting ready an emerald gauze for Ivy's next 
turn. Busy 1 Yes, she was busy indeed. The 
fastenings were intricate. There wasn't a 
second to waste. Jane knew that something 
was at stake for her hero ; the girls, as she gowned 




them, were gossiping about what they'd heard 
from Miss G re viUc— - gossiping more to each 
oilier than to Jane, for they all looked down on 
the dresser. She wasn't of their world, and 
never would he, Nothing worth while con Id 
ever happen, [>ossibly, to that big beanstalk ! 

Yet the beanstalk was 
quivering as if in the 
electric wind of a rising 
thunderstorm. She 
was working to make 
cpa h ma n neq \ i i n loo k 

her ravishing best, to please Burns ; and she was 
completely absorbed, completely unself -conscious, 
when a high voice smote— literally smote — her 

" No, don't send her back again in a green 
dress, nor a black one either. Don't send her 
back in tnty dress. Nor any of those other 
girls— young ladies, if they like it better, I've 
no wish to hurt their feelings. They're pretty 
enough. They're too pretty. That's what's 
the matter. That's the difference between 
London and Paris. I've never bought anywhere 
bift in Paris. I might have realized it would 
be useless to try, I don't blame you, Burns, 
J should have known from the kind of magazine 
covers plastered all over the bookstalls what 
kinp oi types- London shops would choose for 
their mannequins to show off frocks. Pretty 
pretty ! Christmas cards ! Valentines ! I 
tell you I simply can't judge clothes on these 
red -cheeked, big- bus ted specimens 3 PJ 

' Miss Dolan and Miss Eaves are considered 


by GoOglc 




tall," ventured Miss Greville. " And surely 
Miss Wemher is thin " 

4f If you call them tall and her thin, what do 
you call the ? " demanded the famous buyer. 

Miss Greville was not in a state to call Miss 
de Windt anything ; and Tom Burns sprang 
into the breach. " I've been long enough in 
Paris to understand what you mean," he said. . 
" Over there — Aubrey Beardsley hasn't gone 
out of fashion yet. Red cheeks and plump 
figures aren't considered chic " 

" They are not chic," corrected Miss de Windt.- 

" Quite so. They're not chic," Tom echoed. 
And he could speak with a certain sincerity 
because Miss de Windt's niece, whom he had 
loved, was a girl shaped and coloured after her 
aunt's heart. He had nsver seen anyone like her 
in London. " Surely we have some taller models 
other than Miss Eaves or Miss Dolan — someone 
— er — more in — in — the Aubrey Beardsley line ? " 

Miss Greville's nerves were vibrating past the 
patience point. Besides, she thought Mr. Burns 
and that Miss de Windt believed she didn't 
know who Aubrey Beardsley was. She'd show 
them ! 

" Our only young lady approaching the 
Aubrey Beardsley ideal — if you consider it an 
ideal," she remarked, icily, " is — is not one of 
our young ladies." 

" That sounds a paradox ! " Tom laughed. 

Though Miss Greville did know about Aubrey 
Beardsley, she was unable, at short notice, to 
define a paradox. 

" She is not a mannequin," was a safe explana- 
tion. ■ * 

" What is she, then ? " asked Burns. 

" I don't believe she exists in any form, in 
this shop or any other ! " wailed Miss de Windt. 
" If the creature were here she'd have been 
produced by this time." 

The head saleswoman was at bay. " Miss 
Dolan," she requested, " kindly tell Miss Craik 
to come to me." 

Ivy, who had returned in the green dress a 
second before the fiat against her had gone forth, 
was flabbergasted. " Jane Craik ? " she incre- 
dulously repeated. 

" Jane Craik ! " Elsa de Windt pronounced 
after her. " That's what I call a name. It has 
character. That's the sort of name smart 
young women in Paris choose when they're 
to appear in light revue or light opera. Mary 
Hett — my niece, Bridger Shaw, for instance. 
Jane Craik — sounds too good to be true." 

Miss Greville and the mannequins were 
dumbfounded. When the former had recovered 
she said again, " Fetch Jane Craik." 

If anyone had told Ivy Dolan yesterday that 
she would be told to " fetch Jane Craik " she 
would have laughed. But she did not laugh 
now. What is more, she passed between the 
slightly-parted grey curtains into the room 
where Jane Craik stood and gasped, " Miss 
Greville wants you." 

Jane knew this, for she had heard all. She 
was terrified but not petrified. Her wish to 
serve Tom Burns prevented her from turning 
into a pillar of salt or anything else immovable. 

" If you come cringing in like a frump you'll 
be no use to him,'" instinct braced her as with 
a whip. " Remember you've always wanted 
to be an actress. Now's your time* to be one 
without waiting to get on the stage."* 

With a mighty effort of heart and nerves 
Jane threw up her chin, squared her shoulders, 
and despite the plainness of her frock (the 
skimpy black garb of the invisible ones) she 
sailed into the salon with the gait of a cinema 

" There ! That's something like 1 " cried 
Miss de Windt. She stared at Jane Craik. 
Everyone stared at Jane Craik, among others 
Tom Burns. Jane quivered, but did not 
collapse. The test of supreme anguish (it 
was anguish not to know if she were being 
ridiculed before him) made her beautiful. They 
saw that she was beautiful. 

Tom Burns wondered about her, where they 
had hidden her till now, this tall, marble statue 
of a girl with straight, rust-coloured hair, com- 
pressed red lips, and blazing grey-green eyes 
like Bridget Shaw's. 

" Why did you wait for me to get mad as 
a hatter before bringing this out ? " inquired 
Miss de Windt. 

" Miss Craik helps to dress the mannequins," 
explained Miss Greville. 

" If this was my place, they'd help dress 
her," snorted the celebrity. 

" I don't know' whether our model frocks will 
fit a figure of her exceptional height," apolo- 
gized the saleswoman. 

" Perhaps her exceptional slimness may make 
the difference," suggested Burns. 

" Slimness ! " He had applied that exquisite 
word to her ! At home she was dubbed " skinny " 
or " lean." Jane flushed, a faint rose colour, 
her small ears turning deep pink, like coral. 
To have pink ears and a pale face is permissible 
even in Paris. Miss de Windt, spontaneously 
or from sheer contrariness, waxed enthusiastic 
over Jane Craik. 

" If I had the handling of you, in three months 
you'd beat Bridget Shaw for looks," she said, 
and immediately became thoughtful, for Bridget 
had been her pet proUgie. She had spent money 
on Bridget, and Bridget's marriage to a poet- 
aviator had been a grievance. 

Jane was hustled hastily back into the room 
behind the curtains, where her crude frock was 
torn off like a plaster, a filmy lining found to 
fit, and an imperious call obeyed — " Put her 
into black ! " 

In a strange serpent-gown with a short gold 
skirt and a long black tail, Jane was pushed into 
prominence once more. " Splendid ! " pro- 
nounced Miss de Windt. " She looks like 
Cleopatra, with those features and that snake- 
straight hair. Who told you, my dear, to drag 
your hair back and bundle it into a hard smart 
knot according to the latest Paris chic ? " 

Miss Greville and the girls had thought Jane's 
early-alarm-clock while-you-wait way of doing 
her waveless hair the limit. But they could 
see by Miss de Windt's face that she was in 
earnest. The world oi women's looks turned 







upside dowi for them. And they 

turned with it, J or apainst all conviction, 

possibilities in Janus hair, Jane's profile, 

Jane's figure, dimly dawned op their intelligence. 

The great Flsa would have no other model, even 

for blouses, hats, and mantles. ' The nim of my 

life," she explained to the silent Bunts. " is to create 

types, not to pander to those which exist. All artistic 

geniuses hive done that. Do you suppose, to be^in with, 

women had those immense eyes and simpering mouths and 

bottle-necked shoulders you see in the old ' Books of Beauty? ' 

Not at a]]. The painters made females believe that was the 

ideal, and they set to work to h6 it. Good heavens, hadn't 

Kneller, and t In sse other Charles IL chaps done the arched brow, 

almond-eye stunt two centuries before ? It's my mission to turn 

the London girl of to-day into the Pans girl of to-morrow. I've 

been doing it successfully these last three years. 1 suspected I'd got 

em ahead of London. Now I know it, I have to buy clothes 

that suit the new girl, not the old, or I should fall down hard. Rather 

than that, I'll risk another Channel trip. But I begin to think, thanks to this Jane Craik, that you 

and I, Tom, can do business/ 1 

Nearly everything that Jane tried on, and quite everything that suited her, Miss de Wiudt 
bought. She bought fifty hats, six dozen blouses, and mode! gowns for every occasion, almost 
beyond counting, or so it be^an to seem to tired Jane. To say nothing of coats and evening mantles ! 
Jane was not sure whether her exhaustion were due to physical fatigue or excitement, but she 
had never been so happy — had never dreamed of being so happy-j-g-jp^ a^^rd^fl^ ^ he fe ^ ^at if 
she told her story at home the family wd 6 Jill foot believe a.wurdrWfilV ~r¥H^ lt^^~^ ngt malUr ' 








She knew it was true. She knew that she 
had sprung into a new, strange importance, 
as miraculous to her as if shed been changed 
by the wand of Cinderella's godmother. When it 
was over and the buyer had enough, Jane prepared 
to return into obscurity, like the stick til a spent 
rocket. But the memory of her magnificence and the 
thought that she had served Burns would li^ht future 
darkness. She was passing behind the curt a 11155 when a sharp 
*' Jane Craik ! " stopped her short, 

"" Von remind me of a niece I left in Paris/' said Miss de 
Windt. " Isn't that so, Tom t Don't y. m see a likeness to 
Bridget Shaw ? " 

Burns straightened liimseii to account for a start- " VVhy 
— er — yes. perhaps," he mumbled. For ait instant lie looked ] uic 
straight in the face. It was true. I le had a girl in his employ 
who looked like Bridget Shaw, and he must have seen her many 
times without even knowing that she existed t He wondered where 
his eyes had bet;n + The girl not only looked like Bridget Shaw, she 

looked like herself. She was individual. Also she was brave. He realized that she had endured 
a trying ordeal, with all eyes upon her (some not friendly), and she hud passed through it with 
extreme tact and patience. To do tliat needed character. And she had l>ecn the means of selling 
for him several thousand pounds' worth of stuff. He wished he knew how to reward her, but didn't 
see exactly how to do it — he being a young man and she a young woman. Of course, she would 
be promoted and become one of the mannequins. That was obvious* But it would be i or the 
good of the shop, as well as of Jane Craik. There ought ta. tie. something ciore special, yet 
something which couldn't be misunderstood. He would ask ElsaySSWc^! ^ ' 



it - wc 

by Google 

Original from - 



thought of Jane Craik and Bridget Shaw 

Meanwhile the news of the rout of the manne- 
quins had flown from department to department 
of Silsby and Burns, as secret tidings fly. through 
the bazaars of India. The story grew^ and grew. 
Mr. Northbrook was annoyed with himself f or t 
not having discovered this Jane Craik. : 

It did not. surprise anyone that the young 
woman should receive promotion, though it 
would have surprised Jane had she not been 
prepared by Miss de Windt. ~ In fact, her body 
as well as her mind was prepared. The lady 
who ^new Paris talked to Jane about herself, and 
^ave advice how to make the best of that self. 

" There's an old proverb," said she, " that 
it's better to be good than pretty. The new 
proverb I tack on to the old is : * It can be better 
also to be queer than pretty.' " 

She flew impulsively at Jane and did her 
hair in a new way with braided loops over the 
ears. Her gift of advice she followed with 
gifts of clothes. She showed Jane how to wear 
them, and how to walk, and altogether almost 
^ created a new Jane. 

Suddenly to learn that she had attractions 
and a charm of her own was 'to Jane like dis- 
covering that she was a royal princess. To 
be a " beanstalk " was distinguished, not dis- 
graceful ! And courage came to Jane, as she 
found herself, to stand upright, to hold high the 
once bent head, to shuffle no longer, but to walk 
with long, free steps. 

She was hated at first by her fellow-mannequins 
after promotion came, but somehow it was as 
difficult to hate the new Jane as it had been to 
remember the existence of the old one. She 
was so ingenuously happy, so expansively kind 
in her happiness, that, as Miss Greville said, 
she was " like a child at Christmas." Besides, 
she did not " grab " Mr. Northbrook, though 
she had a chance to do so. The salon became 
proud of Jane Craik the day that her portrait 
— her unmistakable portrait — appeared on the 
cover of The Cosmic, painted by the famous 
Fabian Finlay. She had not breathed a word 
of this coming honour to the girls, though she 
must have given sittings, therefore the news 
about the picture burst upon them from outside. 
The family had known from the first, of course ; 
but it had been a changed family since the night 
when Miss de Windt brought Jane home in a 
taxi, and was introduced to mother, Con, and 
Lil. Many weeks passed after that, before the 
appearance of the portrait, but it was ever new, 
each day that dawned, to realize that the ugly 
duckling was in reality a shining swan. 
. The Fabian Finlay episode (due to Miss de 
Windt) led to others. Pretty ladies came to 
stare at the tall " Cosmic Cover Girl " in real 
life. She who had been lean was slender. 
Her hair, the red-brown hue of rust, was bril- 
liantined to that of the copper-beech leaf. 
Her *' queer " personality, in colours or black 
and white, with artists' signatures, accompanied 
advertisements of shoes, of sewing-machines, 
and cereals. 

Digitized by \j009 Ic 

All this Miss de Windt had foreseen, and even 
set going, because she had told Finlay and one 
or two others the story of Jane Craik. The 
rest had followed as an avalanche follows the 
fall of a stone. By and by theatrical manager? 
began to " take notice " ; and Miss de Windt 
had expected that too. She had got out of 
Jane that silly, secret longing to "go on the 
stage " ; and, though she had promised not to 
steal .Silsby and Burns' s new mannequin, she did 
not see why others shouldn't *nake bids. Admi- 
ration is a becoming background for a woman, 
and Elsa de Windt while holiday-making chuckled 
over the letters she had bidden jAne write to 
her " dear benefactress " from London." 

"Telegraph' if any theatrical man comes into 
the offing," she had said; and at last, Jane 
telegraphed : — 

" Have offer from Hasselstein appear c Show 
Girl ' in Mannequin March, new revue. Good 
money, good opening, but intend decline, as 
don't wish leave Silsby and Burns. Wouldn't 
trouble you, but you asked me to wire." 

" Silsby and Bums ! " laughed the great 
Elsa, when she received this message. She 
thought for awhile and then answered : " Have 
reason to think Burns would prefer your leaving 
firm. Advise you to give him notice person- 

When Jane read this her heart almost broke. 
She had hoped that her idol was pleased with 
her, that she had brought him customers, per- 
haps even a little kudos. Occasionally he had 
spoken a pleasant word to her. He had looked 
at her kindly in passing. Yet Miss de Windt 
hinted that he wanted to get rid of her, and 
Miss de Windt must know. 

She had not the courage to take Elsa's advice 
and try to see him personally, but she gave 
notice to the manager of her department that 
she wished to resign. Within an hour Mr. 
Burns sent word that he would be obliged 
if Miss Craik would step into his office for a 

Jane went, trembling. Though she had found 
her level, it still seemed to her far, far below 
that of Thomas Burns. 

He rose from the chair in front of his desk 
to greet her. 

" I hear you are going to leave us," he said. 
" I've wondered often this last year that you 
haven't done so. I know you have had plenty 
of chances. I don't blame you, Miss Craik, 
for bettering yourself. Only — I want to tell 
you — I've often wanted to tell you that I am 

" You — grateful ! " she exclaimed. " Oh, Mr. 
Burns ! If I hadn't thought you wanted me to - 
go I would never " 

if You thought I wanted you to go ? " 

" Miss de Windt — but I didn't mean to tell ! " 

" You must tell me now. Miss de Windt put 
this into your head ? " 

" You see, Mr. Burns, I promised to wire her 
if I had a theatrical offer. She knew I used to 
long for the stage. I telegraphed, I said I 
didn't mean to accept. !But she answered that — 

that you @ngir 


fin s'U'lW- \t tf> t/i\r 


by Google 

Original from 

Emunav Film Service, Ltd* 

HEN I began work in the 
motion-picture field I did not 
expect to become permanently 
connected with the industry. 
In fact, motion-picture pro- 
duction at that time w&s 
regarded by even the boldest 
operators as a rather hazardous investment— 
the sort of enterprise that might only be 
briefly profitable. Nobody had the foresight 
to recognize that the world's greatest baby 
had been born and was being boarded round 
in one house and another like any common 

I launched my first picture efforts in Los 
Angeles, which from the very beginnings of 
the picture industry has been a sort of 
production centre. Motion- 
pi ctu re people call Los 
Angeles tf headquarters/' 
just as men and women of 
the stage do London or New 
York, The Keystone Com- 
pany offered me an oppor- 
tunity to go on ; and I was 
glad of the chance to acquire 
experience because of certain 
plans that I had in mind. 
My companion, when I ap- 
plied for the job at the 
Keystone studio, was Albert 
Austin , who is still a member 
of my company and who 
came over with me from 
England at the time that 
I made my first vaudeville 
tour of the United States 
during the previous season. 
Our second tour of the 


How I Broke 
Into tke Pictures. 



United States occurred in 191 1, and it was in 
that year that my first picture engagement 
was secured, 

Austin and I had been appearing in Fred 
Karno's musical vaudeville skit culled " A 
Night in a London MusioHalL" Jly salary 
with that concern was ten pounds a week M and 
pay your own hotel bills," 

One of my stunts in Karno's show was to 
play a drunken man. In the course of that 
skit I had to do a good deal of staggering 
about j and that was the first time I found 
out that footwork— hopping tack ward on one 
leg and acting like a man with locomotor 
ataxia — was funny to the onlooker. The 
fellows in our company thought it was great 
stuff, and certainly it always got a laughs 

I put on the big shoes at the suggestion of 
Austin^ who thought they would emphasize 
the shuffling walk I used in my first pro- 
duction. There was no particular name to 
that show, if I recall- It was just a mess of 

steamy FoQftqwi atf ro m 


_ l 

s- 3*-- ^f? 3EX fc&rrs^'a 

--. - — -c» ti.*^ znzz. tH'srt 


-IP- — *1^\" 

-fc£*, « I* lilt 

-^** if w*i 



1- tfH" 




' 95 

M'aiktr't H'mrM"* txhrts. Ltd. 

I soon discovered that I had been needlessly alarmed. 
The philanthropic societies all had my address ! 

I have stuck to comedy because I am convinced that 
my public is better satisfied with that than with any 
other kind of production. I essayed the " straight 
drama " once or twice, and cannot say that my efforts 
in that direction were very highly appreciated. Any 
time that I appear without my original make-up 
there is discontent. It originates with the children, 
who are ray best friends ; is endorsed by the women, 
who are my second best friends ; and so far as the men 
are concerned, they talk as though I had been sen- 
tenced for life to the same suit of clothes., and howl their 
heads off if there's a button changed. 

The odd thing about my success in the pictures 
is that it developed out of unvalued assets. I 
learned that bi^foot shuffle and the ataxic walk 
from an old cab-horse tout in London, who used 
to hold horses outside the Elephant and Castle 

while the drivers 

If'chler'i W^ridM F&M, Lid. 

were inside get* 
ting a drink. 
The old man was 
a physical wreck, 
but he had that 
comic walk and 
it used to amuse 
tru\ so I imitated 
it for the amuse- 
ment of a few 
of my friends, 

I'm glad I did. If it hadn't been for poor old Bill 
and his funny shuffle I should probably be knocking 
out twenty pounds a week or so as a vaudeville 
performer ct doing the provinces," as we say in England ; 
or perhaps I might have hooked up with light opera 
in the United States. As It is I think I shall remain 
in the motion-picture field indefinitely. It is good 
enough for me. 

. Jintutxi l-'iim L'ttrpomtitat., 

by Google 

Original from 


[We shall be glad to receive Contributions to this section, and to pay for such as ate accepted,] 

r T^HE custom set forth in this " bidding "invitation 
1 is elucidated by a passage in the Gentleman's 
Magazine for May, 1784, which says : u It is peculiar 
to some parts of Wales and still practised at the 
marriages of servants, tradesfolk^ and little farmers. 
Before the wedding an entertainment is provided to 
which all the friends of each party are bid or invited, 

r _„_„ £ ' 

ilS ^1* i Ulead to (ninr the Mihinkoma;] ftiale, 
■ iDUBM I he '2-itt tat&lit, ve p>irpn«4!-|r> make a 
KIOPVN'Jt on [in Oua^iwr. that Day, ti«r young Man 
fll hi^ FatlnV> HiAlKt called fik'*i-if-gti-m r *w-d febv Y'hjiiii 
Wamtuj vt Iwr $u--p-t "ftilwr'* rtwi«, called CotAp*kmfgr B 
bo:h in tiie Famli of IMm^ n*i. . i ittoei erf Irhkh P!*o< 
« SnmfUy juilfHi the faYoftf jfrw *npd CaJuJJ&ifY - and 
-■ -r Qvp'Liii'Pti %'fu '. : , hi p! ,i>: <i to bedtw* c^i *-il lur- 
>- m 1 i*#*k Hay. nba\\ be wccjwdwiLh Gratitude and rcpaup 
h Cl^ t i , tiiliw«9 on % >hiLi!*r tkrjiiuii^ 

By iTQttr very humble Hrrvaiitii 
JOHN 11EE!% 

• Eusr.aEETii GRirmm 

l*WI-j-qi*™ n ^ift * %* J,fc, Jwiy»<fan lit Otffc* *f It*. sWti H«5ur' <)«k 1*-th«-iv r. -*y 

EUld li^rt,. .( u nn^: M^i lW ^*Wt. »fd ■:■! >!■£ |£:*i*l ful f^pr -Jl f»T.~^ 

'■*»* m*y t* m-ujl *r) '4 tfc»» yjiiUk "\ .'*.i» ibid i»itj(.id *.U t* 


and to which none fail to brinfj or send some contri- 
bution, from a cow or calf down to half a crown or a 
shilling. An account of each is kept, and if the young 
couple do wel! it is expected that they shouk I do as 
much at any future bidding of their generous jjucsts," 
The M biddings * were distributed by a herald bearing 
a crook or wand adorned with ribbons* — Sir, C* Van 
Noordcn, 3$, Lincoln's Inn Fields, W,C.2, 


THIS photograph was taken In llie one -thousandth 
part of a second, and shows a teapot in the 
process of being demolished by a sledge-hammer* It 
may be noticed that the handle, although cracked in 

two places, has not yet fallen, whilst several lar^e 
cracks have appeared in the body* The lid has been 
driven into the teajwt, and a small chip of it is seen 
in front of the hammer* The print is absolutely 

untouched in any way, and was taken to lest the . 
capabilities of an instantaneous camera of my own 
design ; the teapot was selected as the victim owing 
to a flaw in the spout rendering it unsafe for further 
use* — Mr* WV A, Dovaston, 14, Madeley Road t Ealing, 
W, 5 . 

Bridge Problem, 

By E hn est Berg bolt. 

Hearts— s, & 
Clubs— 7, 6, 5. 
Diamonds— Sp 6, 
Spades^N 01 ie. 

H earls— Knave, 10, 7, 3, 
Clubs— Now** 
Diamond:!; — Knave, 10. 
Spades— Ace. 

Hearts— a. 
Clubs— None. 
Diamonds — o N 7- 
Spades — Kna^e, 9, 8 H 

Hearts— Queen* 
Club**— Nunc. 
Diamonds— Ace, 7, 
Spades — Queen, io, 7, 4. 

Club* are trumps, and A has the lead. *A B are to win ?U 
the seven trick*, against uuy possible defence. 


cr\0 not forget that The Strand Magazine may now bt sent post tree io British 
soldiers and sailors at home and abroad* All you need do is to hand your copies, 
without wrapper or address, over the counter ai any post-office in the United Kingdom, 
and they will be sent by the authorities wherever they in 11 be most welcome. 

'■- UMlj i r i m 


The Passing of the Seasick Com 










Introduce into YOUR HOME 
a healthy, happy amusement 

To keep everyone Iceen on the game is something— to ba-ve every player, young or old, 
appreciative of lhe. mtdmmmOM and iron its, ihc flukes :in<l lhe skilful strokes. But when 
lb ir yuuiJi^ people enjoy a. Kame l hat is .1 gruwn- tips' K*ime tuo> you Lave a great asset 
to Lhe home aide, Such is Riicy Billiard* ; for on a Riley Miniature Table the expert 
^pn make lhe most dillicult si rokes— exactly as on lhe full-sized tables whicu Riley's supply, 
Q and 011 which the champioustups are pbyed, 

I / H us ihw evening end within 
I V I a few days t he £ 6 1 6i* &i?e 

K i I ey M 1 nia 1 - 1 . -■ J . - ble w i 11 
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The lem^iutlcr you pay in 14 monthly 
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table in 15 ecjihil monthly LnSLaJments. 


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cushions, cry striate I alls Mid all accessaries incUuW. Every table 
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Hixe4ft.4iiu.1ii 'ft 4ini. .. II MtliV Ofi { ■* 

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hJ Tft. JitM Uy :lfl. Hun*. £P 9,0 I IMfmeMil 13fl 

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CCUCU nAVC CDCC TDIfll —Hlki.vV will ilvlivur ■ Minint lire 

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filler's Jtimimhtr* Biffia*'<i To^le shewn rating 
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pDrr Illustrated C&taldtfu* of Homi Billiard and 
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E, J. 

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A combination of a hand^ 
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Made in oak or mahogany; 
every detail perfect ; 
suld complete with all 
accessories including crystalate balls* 
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The Dulcitone hawkeys and touch like an ordinary piano, 
but never requires tuning, as the sound- producers are tuning 
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A boon on board ship* 
In camp, or In hospital. 

In th«? flnlfiniw nnd Abroad the Pulnitcne is in jrr(*nt 
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resist! cond i Liuns irhi.'h would ruin any oniumiy iriano. 

Compass 5 Octaves. 

Price £25 net, 


For £1 avtr*. cash with order, wa will pack In 
confopmlty with tha Malmtloaa and d«iiv*r carriage 
paid through the Military Forwarding Officer fii- lor 
tha Nftvy to Any railway itatlon or port in BrH*| n . 

JVrif£ itf -day far illustrated Cat a fog** ts thi s*U maAfrs : 


4^. Gt. Wefttern Rd r> Glaitfow, ^> 


Stocking* and Socki for 

La diet, Children, and Men, 

The manufac- 
turers of the 
premier British 
Stockings and 
Socks are deter- 
mined that the 
public shall re- 
ceive full Jason 
value. Dealers 
must not make 
more than the full 
and fair profit 
which is fixed by 
the price printed 
on the Jason Tab 
by the manufac- 


See the Jason Tab on every pair, and 
pay only the price marked on the Tab, 

Jason "Elite" Range Jason "Weil" Range 

3/3 per pair 

J a son ' L Pr I m os ' K +-1 1 1 ^ 1 

J, 1 ^ jier pair 
J:isrni "Chftrm '* Kim^e 

3./ft ^er |p;iir 
Jason 'Grace' 1 Range 

4/- p«r p^ir^ 
Jason "Choke" Range 

4}3 per jx^ir 

?/- prr pair 

Leader" Rane*- 

2R p^r pkiir 

Jn<voti ' ' De Lai* Ran^e 

I.* per pair 
Jason M Triumph "Rancrc 

2,fl ■[te-r pair 
Jason hl Eicel " Rnnce 

S/- per pair 

Jason ^fcHpstc" Range* 4/1 per pair. 

Buy Jaton at th* fixtd prisma. Incatm of difficulty w wriim 

W. TYLER, SONS & CO., Leicetter. 9 



p nnf ,| . Original from 





<5« pas* »i.) original from 



Vol. 55. 

FEBRUARY, 1918. 

No. 326. 



Illustrated by Frank Gillett, R.L 


look at old Sam Gates you 
would never suspect him of 
having nerves. His sixty-nine 
years of close application to 
the needs of the soil had 
given him a certairi earthy 
stolidity. To observe him 
t * b , or thinning out a broad field of 
turnips, hardly attracted one's attention. He 
seemed so much part and parcel of the whole 
scheme. He blended into the soil like a 
glorified turnip. Nevertheless, the half-dozen 
people who claimed his acquaintance knew 
him to be a man who suffered from little 
moods of irritability. 

And on this glorious morning a little incident 
annoyed him unreasonably. It concerned his 
niece Aggie. She was a plump girl with clear 
blue eyes and a face as round and inexpressive 
as the dumplings for wliich the county was 
famous. She came slowly across the long 
sweep of the downland, and, putting down 
the bundle wrapped in a red handkerchief 
which contained his breakfast and dinner, she 
said : — 
"'Well, uncle, is there any noos ? " 
Now this may not appear to the casual 
reader to be a remark likely to cause irritation, 
but it affected old Sam Gates as a very silly 
and unnecessary question. It was, moreover, 
the constant repetition of it which was 
beginning to anger him. He met his niece 
twice a day. In the morning she brought his 
bundle of food at seven, and when he passed 
his sister's cottage on the way home to tea at 

Copyright, 1918, by 

Vol. lv.—7. 

by V^ 

five she was invariably hanging about the 
gate. And on each occasion she always said, 
in exactly the same voice : — 

" Well, uncle, is there any noos ? " 

" Noos " I What " noos " should there be ? 
For sixty-nine years he had never lived farther 
than five miles from Halvesham. For nearly 
sixty of those years he had bent his back 
above the soil. There were, indeed, historic 
occasions. Once, for instance, when he had 
married Annie Hachet. And there was the 
birth of his daughter. There was also a 
famous occasion when he had visited London. 
Once he had been to a flower-show at Market 
Roughborough. He either went or didn't go 
to church on Sundays. He had had many 
interesting chats with Mr. James at The 
Cowman, and three years ago had sold a 
pig to Mrs. Way. But he couldn't always 
have interesting " noos " of this sort up his 
sleeve. Didn't the silly lass know that for 
the last three weeks he had. been hoeing and 
thinning out turnips for Mr. Hodge on this 
very same field ? What " noos " could there 

He blinked at his niece, and didn't answer. 
She undid the parcel, and said : — 

" Mrs. Goping's fowl got out again last 

He replied " Ah ! " in a non-committal 
manner and began to munch his bread and 
bacon. His niece picked up the handkerchief 
and, humming to herself, walked back across 
the field. 

It was a glorious morning, and a white Sea- 
Stacy Aunionier* 









by Google 

mist added to 
the promise 
of a hot day t 
He sat there 
thinking o f 
nothing in 
particular, but gradually subsiding into a 
mood of placid content. He noticed the back 
of Aggie disappear in the distance. It was a 
mile to the cottage, and a mile and a half to 
Halvesham, Silly things, girls ! They were 
all alike. One had to make allowances. He 
dismissed her from his thoughts and took a 
long swig of tea out of a bottle. Insects 
buzzed lazily. He tapped his pocket to assure 
himself ttiat his pouch of slrag was there, and 
then he continued munching. When he had 
finished he lighted his pipe and stretched 
himself comfortably. He looked along the 
line of turnips he had thinned, and then 
across the adjoining field of swedes- Silver 
streaks appeared on the sea below the mist. 
In some dim way he felt happy in his solitude 
amidst this sweeping immensity of earth and 
sea and sky. 

And then something etse came to irritate 
him. It was one of " these dratted airy- 
planes." * c Airyplanes " were his pet aver- 
sion. He could find nothing to be said in 
their favour. Nasty, noisy, disfiguring things 
that seared the heavens and made the earth 
dangerous. And every day there seemed to 
I)e more and more of them. Of course, H this 
old war" was responsible for a lot of them, 
he knew. The war was a 4t plaguey noosance," 
They were short-handed on the farm, Beer 
and tobacco were dear. And Mrs, Steven's 
nephew had been and got wounded in the 

He turned his attention once more to the 
turnips. But an ** airy plane " has an annoy- 
ing genius for gripping one's attention. When 
it appears on the scene, however much we 
dislike it, it has a way of taking the stage- 
centre. We cannot help constantly looking 
at it. And so it was with old Sam Gates. He 
spat on his hands and blinked up at the sky. 
And suddenly the aeroplane behaved in a very 
extraordinary manner. It was well over the 
sea, when it seemed to lurch drunken ly and 
skimmed the water. Then it shot up at a 
dangerous angle and zigzagged. It started to 
go farther out, and then turned and made 
for the land. The engines were making a 
curious grating noise. It rose once more, and 
then suddenly dived downwards and came 
plump down right in the middle of Mr. Hodge's 

field of swedes t , r 

Ungmal from 




And then, as if npt content with this 
desecration, it ran along the ground, ripping 
and tearing up twenty-five yards of good 
swedes, and then came to a stop. 

Old Sam Gates was in a terrible state. The 
aeroplane was more than a hundred yards 
away, but he waved his arms, and called 
out : — 

" Hi'! you there, you mustn't land in they 
swedes ! The/re Mister Hodge's." 

The instant .the aeroplane stopped a man 
leapt out and gazed quickly round. He 
glanced at Sam Gates, and seemed uncertain 
whether to address him or whether to con- 
centrate his attention on the flying-machine. 
The latter arrangement appeared to be his 
ultimate decision. He dived under the engine 
and became frantically busy. Sam had never 
seen anyone work with such furious energy. 
But all the same, it was not to be tolerated. 
It was disgraceful ! Sam started out across 
the field, almost hurrying in his indignation. 
When he appeared within earshot of the 
aviator he cried out again : — 

" Hi ! You mustn't rest your old ' airy- 
plane here. You've kicked up all Mr. Hodge's 
swedes. A nice thing you've done ! " 

He was within five yards when suddenly 
the aviator turned and covered him with a 
revolver ! And, speaking in a sharp staccato 
voice, he said : — 

" Old grandfather, you must sit down. I 
am very much occupied. If you interfere or 
attempt to go away I shoot you. So ! n 

Sam gazed at the horrid glittering little 
barrel and gasped. Well, he never ! To be 
threatened with murder when you're doing 
your duty in your employer's private property! 
But still, perhaps the man was mad. A man 
must be more or less mad to go up in one of 
those crazy things. And life was vfery sweet 
on that summer morning, in spite of 
sixty-nine years. He sat down among the 

The aviator was so busy with his cranks 
and machinery that he hardly deigned to pay 
him any attention, except to keep the revolver 
handy. He worked feverishly, and Sain sat 
watching him. At the end of ten minutes 
he appeared to have solved his troubles 
with the machine, but he still seemed very 
scared. He kept on glancing round and out 
to sea. When his repairs were complete he 
straightened his back and wiped the per- 
spiration from his brow. He was apparently 
on the point of springing back into the 
machine ^ind going off, when a sudden mood 
of facetiousness, caused by relief from the 
strain he had endured, came to him. He 

Digitized by OoOQlc 

turned to old Sam and smiled, at the same 
time remarking : — 

" Well, old grandfather, and now we shall 
be all right, isn't it ? " 

He came close up to Sam, and then suddenly 
started back. 

11 Gott ! " he cried. " Paul Jouperts ! " 

Sam gazed at him bewildered, and the 
madman started talking to him in some foreign 
tongue. Sam shook his head. 

" You no right," he remarked, " to come 
bargin' through they swedes of Mr. Hodge's." 

And then the aviator behaved in a most 
peculiar manner. He came up and examined 
his face very closely, and gave a sudden tug 
at his beard and hair, as if to see whether it 
were real or false. 

" What is your name, old man ? " he saidj 

" Sam Gates." fc 

The aviator muttered some words that 
sounded something like " mare vudish," and 
then turned to his machine. He appeared to 
be dazed and in a great state of doubt. He 
fumbled with some cranks, but kept glancing 
at old Sam. At last he got into the car and 
strapped himself in. Then he stopped, and 
sat there deep in thought. At last he sud- 
denly unstrapped himself and sprang out 
again, and approaching Sam he said, very 
deliberately : — 

" Old grandfather, I shall require you to 
accompany me." 

Sam gasped. 

" Eh ? " he said. " What be talkin' about ? 
'Company ? I got these here lines o' tarnips— 
I be already behoind." 

The disgusting little revolver once more 
flashed before his eyes. 

" There must be no discussion," came the 
voice. "It is necessary that you mount the 
seat of the car without delay. Otherwise I 
shoot you like the dog you are. So I " 

Old Sam was hale and hearty. He had no 
desire to die so ignominiously. The pleasant 
smell of the Norfolk downland was in his 
nostrils. His foot was on his native heath. 
He mounted the seat of the car, contenting 
himself with a mutter : — 

" Well, that be a noice thing, I must say ! 
Flyin' about the country with all they tarnips 
on'y half thinned ! " 

He found himself strapped in. The aviator 
was in a fever of anxiety to get away. The 
engines made a ghastly splutter and noise. 
The thing started running along the ground. 
Suddenly it shot upwards, giving the swedes 
a last contemptuous kick. At twenty minutes 
to eight that morning old Sam found himself 
being borne right up above his fields and out 




to sea! His breath came: quickly. He was 
a little frightened. 

" God forgive me ! " he murmured. "* 

The thing was so fantastic and sudden, his 
mind could not grasp it. He only felt in 
some vague way that he was going to die, and 
he struggled to attune his mind to the change. 
He offered up a mild prayer to God, Who he 
felt must be very neat, somewhere up in these 
clouds. Automatically he thought of the 
vicar at Halvesham, and a certain sense of 
comfort came to him at the reflection that on 
the previous day he had taken a " cooking of 
runner beans " to God's representative in 
that village. He felt calmer after that, but 
the horrid machine seemed to go higher and 
higher. He could not turn in his seat, and 
he could see nothing but sea and sky. Of 
course, the man was mad — mad as a March 
hare. Of what earthly use could he be to 
anyone ? Besides, he had talked pure gib- 
berish, and called him Paul something, when 
he had already told him that his name was 
Sam. The thing would fall down into the 
sea soon and they would both be drowned. 
Well, well, he had reached the three-score 
years and ten. 

He was protected by a screen, but it 
seemed very cold. What on earth would 
Mr. Hodge say? There was no one left to 
work the land but a fool of a boy named Billy 
Whitehead at Dene's Cross. On, on, on they 
went at a furious pace. His thoughts danced 
disconnectedly from incidents of his youth, 
conversations with the vicar, hearty meals in 
the open, a frock his sister wore on the day 
of the postman's wedding, the drone of a 
psalm, the illness of some ewes belonging to 
Mr. Hodge. Everything seemed to be moving 
very rapidly, upsetting his sense of time. He 
felt outraged, and yet at moments there was 
something entrancing in the wild experience. 
He seemed to be living at an incredible pace. 
Perhaps he was really dead and on his way 
to the Kingdom of God? Perhaps this was- 
the way they took people ? 

After some indefinite period he suddenly 
caught sight of a long strip of land. Was 
this a foreign country, or were they returning ? 
He had by this time lost all feeling of 
fear. He became interested, and almost 

The " airyplane" was not such a fool as it 
looked. It was very wonderful to be right 
up in the sky like this. His dreams were 
suddenly disturbed by a fearful noise. He 
thought the machine was blown to pieces. It 
dived and ducked through the air, and things 
were bursting all round it and making an 

Digitized by V^GOQ IC 

awful din, and then it went up higher and 
higher. After a while these noises ceased and 
he felt the machine gliding downwards. They 
were right above solid land, trees, and 
fields, and streams, and white villages. Down, 
down, down they glided. This was a foreign 
country. There were straight avenues of 
poplars and canals. This was not Halvesham, 
He felt the thing glide gently and bump into 
a field. Some men ran forward and approached 
them, and the mad aviator called out to them. 
They were mostly fat men in grey uniforms, 
and they all spoke this foreign gibberish. 
Someone came and unstrapped him. He was 
very stiff and could hardly move. An ex- 
ceptionally gross-lobking man punched him 
in the ribs and roared with laughter. They 
all stood round and laughed at him, while the 
mad aviator talked to them and kept pointing 
at him. Then he said : — 

" Old grandfather, you must come with 

He was led to an iron-roofed building and 
shut in a little room. There were guards out- 
side with fixed bayonets. After a while the 
mad aviator appeared again accompanied by 
two soldiers. He beckoned Sam to follow* 
They marched through a quadrangle and 
entered another building. They went straight 
into an office where a very important-looking 
man covered with medals sat in an easy chair* 
There was a lot of saluting and clicking of 
heels. The aviator pointed at Sam and said 
something, and . the man with the medals 
started at sight of him and then came up 
and spoke to him in English. 
• " What is your name ? Where do you 
come from? Your age? The name and 
birthplace of your parents ? " 

He seemed intensely interested, and also 
pulled Sam's hair and beard to see if they came 
off. So well and naturally did he and the 
aviator speak English that, after a voluble 
examination, they drew apart and continued 
the conversation in that language. And 
the extraordinary conversation was of this 
nature : — 

" It is a most remarkable resemblance," 
said the man with medals. " Vnglaublich t 
But what do you want me to do with him, 
Hausemann ? " 

" The idea came to me suddenly, Excel- 
lency," replied the aviator, " and you may 
consider it worthless. It is just this. The 
resemblance is so amazing. Paul Jouperts 
has given us more valuable information than 
anyone at present in our service. And the 
English know that. There is an award of 
five thousand fr^RPPii on his head. Twice 



io 3 

they have captured him, and each time he 
escaped. All the company commanders and 
their staff have his photograph. He is a 
serious thorn in their flesh." 

" Well ? " replied the man with the medals. 

The aviator whispered confidentially: — 

" Suppose, your Excellency, that they 
found the dead body of Paul Jouperts ? " 

" Well ? " replied the big man. 

" My suggestion is this. To-morrow, as 
you know, the English are attaching Hill 701, 
which we have for tactical reasons decided to 
evacuate. If after the attack they find tht 
dead body of Paul Jouperts in, say, the 
second lines, they will take no further trouble 
in the matter. You know their lack of 
thoroughness. Pardon me, I was two years 
at Oxford University. And consequently 
Paul Jouperts will be able to — prosecute his 
labours undisturbed." 

The man with the medals twirled his 
moustache and looked thoughtfully at his 

" Where is Paul at the moment ? " he asked. 

" He is acting as a gardener at the Convent 
of St. Eloise at Mailleton-en-haut, which, as 
you know, is one hundred metres from the 
headquarters of the British Central Army 

The man with the medals took two or three 
rapid turns up and down the room. Then he 
said : — 

" Your plan is exsellent, Hausemann. The 
only point of difficulty is that the attack 
started this morning." 

" This morning ? " exclaimed the other. 

" Yes. The English attacked unexpectedly 
at dawn. We have already evacuated the 
first line. We shall evacuate the second line 
at eleven-fifty. It is now ten-fifteen. There 
may be just time." 

He looked suddenly at old Sam in the way 
that a butcher might look at a prize heifer 
at an agricultural show, and remarked, 
casually : — 

" Yes, it is a remarkable resemblance. It 
seems a pity not to — do something with it." 

Then, speaking in German, he added :— - 

" It is worth trying. And if it succeeds the 
higher authorities shall hear of your lucky 
accident and inspiration, Hen** Hausemann. 
Instruct Ober-leutnant Schutz to send the 
old fool by two orderlies to the east extremity 
of trench thirty-eight. Keep him there till 
the order of evacuation is given. Then shoot 
him, but don't disfigure him; and lay him 
out face upwards." 

The aviator saluted and withdrew, accom- 
panied by his victim. Old Sam had not 

Digitized by tiQOglC 

understood the latter part of the conversation, 
and he did not catch quite all that was said 
in English, 'but he felt that somehow things ' 
were not becoming too promising and it was 
time to assert himself. So lie remarked when 
they got outside : — 

" Now, look'ee here, mister ; when am I 
goin* to get back to my tarnips ? " 

And the aviator replied, with a pleasant 
smile : — 

" Do not be disturbed, old grandfather ; 
you shall — get back to the soil quite soon." 

In a few moments Sam found himself in a 
large grey car, accompanied by four soldiers. 
The aviator left him. The country was barren 
and horrible, full of great pits and rents, and 
he could hear the roar of artillery and the 
shriek of shells. Overhead aeroplanes were 
buzzing angrily. He seemed to be suddenly 
transported from the Kingdom of God to the 
Pit of Darkness. He wondered whether the 
vicar had enjoyed the runner beans. He 
could not imagine runner beans growing here 
— runner beans, aye ! or anything else. If 
this was a foreign country, give him dear old 
England ! 

Gr-r-r ! Bang I Something exploded just 
at the rear of the car. The soldiers ducked, 
and one of them pushed Sam in the stoipach 
and swore. 

* " An ugly-looking lout ! " he thought. " If 
I was twenty years younger I'd give him a 
punch in the eye that 'ud make him sit up ! " 

The car came to a halt by a broken wall. 
The party hurried out and dived behind a 
mound. He was pulled down a kind of shaft, 
and found himself in a room buried right 
underground, where three officers were drink- 
ing and smoking. The soldiers saluted and 
handed a typewritten despatch. The officers 
looked at him drunkenly, and one came up 
and pulled his beard and spat in his face, and 
called him " an old English swine." He then 
shouted out some instructions to the soldiers, 
and they led Sam out into the narrow trench. 
One walked behind him and occasionally 
prodded him with the butt-end of a gun. 
The trenches were half- full of water and reeked 
of gases, powder, and decaying matter. 
Shells were constantly bursting overhead, and 
in places the trenches had crumbled and were 
nearly blocked up. They stumbled on, some- 
times falling, sometimes dodging moving 
masses, and occasionally crawling over the 
dead bodies of men. At last they reached a 
deserted-looking trench, and one of the 
soldiers pushed him into the corner of it. and 
growled something, and then disappeared 
round the angle. Old Sam was exhausted. 







He lay panting against the mud wall, expect- 
ing every minute to be blown to pieces by 
one of those infernal things that seemed to 
he getting more and more insistent* The din 
went on for nearly twenty minutes, and he 
was alone in the trench. He fancied he heard 
a whistle amidst the din. Suddenly one of 
the soldiers who had accompanied him came 
stealthily round the corner. And there was 
a look in his eye old Sam did not like. When 
lie was within five yards the soldier raised his 
rifle and pointed it at Sam's body. Some 
instinct impelled the old man at that instant 
to throw himself forward on his face* As he 
did so he was conscious of a terrible explosion, 
and he had just time to observe the soldier 
falling in a heap near him ? and then he lost 
consciousness* % 

His consciousness appeared to return to 
him with a snap. He was lying on a 
plank in a building and he heard someone 
say : — 

* ( I believe the old boy's English." 

He looked round- There were a lot of men 
lying there, and others in khaki and white 
overalls were busy amongst them. He sat 
up and rubbed his head* and said :— 


! mister, where be I now ? " 

S.imeone laughed, and a young man came 
up. and said : — 

l# Well* old thing, you were very nearly in 
Hell Who the devil are you ? * 

Someone came up and two of them were 
discussing him* One of them said :— 

*' He's quite all right. He was only knocked 
out Better take him in to the colonel* He 
may be a spy," 

The other came up and touched his shoulder, 
and remarked : — 

" Can you walk, uncle ? " 

He replied : — 

" Ave, I can walk all right." 

41 That's an old sport 1 " 

The young man took his arm and 
helped him out of the room into a court- 
yard. They entered another room, where 
an elderl y, kind-faced officer was seated 
at a desk. The officer looked up and 
exclaimed : — 

11 Good heavens, Bradshaw, do you know 
whom you've got there ? " 

The vounger one said :— 

44 No. Who, sir?" 

M By heavens* it's Paul Jouperts!" ex- 
claimed the colonel* 

" Paul Jouperts ! Great Scot ! " 






The elder officer addressed himself to Sam. 
lie said : — 

u Well, we've got you once more, Paul. 
We shall have to be a little more careful this 

The young officer said :— 

" Shalt I detail a squad, sir ? n 

u We can't shoot him without a court- 
martial/* replied the kind- faced senior. 

'l*hen Sam interpolated :— - 

H Look'ee here ? sir. I'm fair sick of all 
this. My name bean't Paul, My 
Sam. I was a-thinnin' a line o* tar nips 

Both officers burst out laughing; and the 
younger one said : — 

4i Good — very good ! Isn't it amazing, 
sir , the way they not only learn the lan- 
guage, but even take the trouble to learn a 
dialect ? " 

The older man busied himself with some 

" Well, Sam," he remarked, " you shall be 
given a chance to prove your identity. Our 
methods are less drastic than those of your 
Roche masters. What part of England are 
you supposed to come from ? Let's see how 
much you can bluff us with your topographical 
knowledge.' 1 

e says, ' You must 


Oi was a-thinnin' a lciine 0' tar nips this 
mornin 1 at 'alf-past seven on Mr. Hodge's 
farm at Halves ham, when one 0' these /ere 
airyplanes come roight down among the 
swedes, I tells 'ee to get clear o' that, when 
the feller what gets out o' the car J e drahs a 
revowlver and 
I — _' w 

£ Yes ^ yes/ 1 interrupted the senior officer ; 
" that's all very good* Now tell me— where 
is Halvesham ? What is the name of the 
local vicar ? I'm sure you'd know that." 

Old Sam rubbed his chin. 

(1 I sits under the Reverend David Pryee, 
mister 3 and a good God-fearin J man he be. 
I took him a cookin' o 7 runner beans onV 
yesterday, I works for Mr. Hodge what 
owns Green way Manor } and J as a stud -farm 
at Newmarket, they say/' 

" Charles Hodge ? " asked the younger 

+ ' Aye, Charlie Hodge. You write and ask 
'un if he knows old Sam Gates/' 

The two officers looked at each other ? and 
the older one looked at Sam more closely. 

" It's very extraordinary^" he remarked, 

" Everybody knows Charlie Hodge/' added 
the younger'-dffi^jal from 




It was at that moment that a wave of 
genius swept over old Sam. He put hi$ hand 
to his head, and suddenly jerked out : — 

11 What's more, I can tell 'ee where this 
yere Paul, is. He's actin* as gardener in a 

convent at " * He puckered up his brows 

and fumbled with his hat, and then got out : 
" Mighteno." 

The older officer gasped. 

" Mailleton-en-haut ! Good heavens ! What 
makes you say that, old man ? " 

Sam tried to give an account of his 
experience and the things he had heard 
said by the German officers. But he was 
getting tired, and he broke off in the middle 
to say : — 

" Ye haven't a bite o' somethin' to eat, I 
suppose, mister, or a glass o' beer ? I usually 
'as my dinner at twelve o'clock." 

Both the officers laughed, and the older 
said : — 

" Get him some food, Bradshaw, and a 
bottle of beer from the mess. We'll keep this 
old man here. He interests me." 

While the younger man was doing this the 
chief pressed a button and summoned another 
junior officer. 

" Gateshead/' he remarked, " ring up the 
G.H.Q. and instruct them to arrest the 
gardener in that convent at the top ojjthe 
hill, and then to report." 

The officer saluted and went out, and in 
a few minutes a tray of hot food and a large 
bottle of beer were brought to the old man, 
and he was left alone in the corner of the room 
to negotiate this welcome compensation. And 
in the execution he did himself and his county 
credit. In the meanwhile the officers were 
very busy. People were coming and go'ng 
and examining maps, and telephone bells 
were ringing furiously. They did not disturb 
old Sam's gastric operations. He cleaned up 
the mess-tins and finished the last drop of 
beer. The senior officer found time to offer 
him a cigarette, but he replied : — 

" Thank'ee kindly, sir, but I'd rather 
smoke my pipe." 

The colonel smiled, and said : — * 

" Oh, all right ! Smoke away." 

He lighted up, and the fumes of the shag 
permeated the room. Someone opened another 
window, and the young officer who had 
addressed him at first suddenly looked at him 
and exclaimed : — 

" Innocent, by gad ! You couldn't get 
shag like that anywhere but in Norfolk ! " 

It must have been an hour later when 
another officer entered and saluted. 

" Message from the G.H.Q., sir/' he said. 

Digitized by I 

" Well ? " 

" They have arrested the gardener at the 
convent of St. Eloise, and they have every 
reason to believe that he is the notorious 
Paul Jouperts." 

The colonel stood up and his eyes beamed. 
He came over to old Sam and shook his 

" Mr. Gates," he said, " you are an old 
brick ! You will probably hear more of 
this. You have been the means of deliver- 
ing something very useful into our hands. 
Your own honour is vindicated. A loving 
Government will probably award you five 
shillings, or a Victoria Cross, or something of 
that sort. In the meantime, what can I do 
for you ? " _ 

Old Sam scratched his chin. 

" Oi want to get back 'ome," he said. 

" Well, even that might be arranged." 

" Oi want to get back 'ome in toime for 

" What time do you have tea ? " 

" Foive o'clock or thereabouts." 

" I see." A kindly smile came into the 
eyes of the colonel. He turned to another 
officer standing by the table and said, 
" Raikes, is anyone going across this after- 
noon with despatches ? " 

" Yes, sir," replied the other officer. 
" Commander Jennings is leaving at three 

" You might ask him if he could see me." 

Within ten minutes a young man in a 
flight-commander's uniform entered. 

" Ah, Jennings," said the colonel. " Here 
is a little affair which concerns the honour 
of the British Army. My friend here, Sam 
Gates, has come over from Halvesham, in 
Norfolk, in order to give us valuable informa- 
tion. I have promised him that he shall get 
home to tea at five o'clock. Can you take a 
passenger ? " 

The young man threw back his head and 

" Lord ! " he exclaimed. " What an old 
sport ! Yes, I expect I could manage it. 
Where is the God-forsaken place ? " 

A large ordnance-map of Norfolk (which 
had been captured from a German officer) 
was produced, and the young man studied 
it closely. 

At three o'clock precisely, old Sam, finding 
himself something of a hero and quite glad 
to escape from the embarrassment which 
this position entailed, once more sped sky- 
wards in an c< airyplane." 

At twenty minutes to five he landed once 
more amongst Mr. Hodge's swedes. The 




breezy young airman shook hands with him 
and departed inland. Old Sam sat down and 
surveyed the field, 

" A noice thing, I must say I " he muttered 
to himself, as he looked along the lines of 
unthinned turnips. He still had twenty 
minutes, and so he went slowly along and 
completed a line which he had commenced 
in the morning. He then deliberately packed 

It was then that old Sam really lost his 

" Noos ! " he said. " Noos ! Drat the 
girl ! what noos should there be ? Sixty-nine 
year I live in these here parts, hoein' and 
weedm* and thinning and mindin' Charlie 
Hodge's sheep. Am I one o 1 these here story- 
book folk bavin' noos 'appen to me all the 
time ? Ain't it enough, ye silly dab- faced 


tip las dinner- things and his tools, and 
started oat for home. 

As he came round the corner of Stillway's 
meadow and the cottage came in view his 
niece stepped out of the copse with a basket 
on her arm. 

'* Well, uncle," she said, " is there any 
noos ? J3 

zany, to earn enough to buy a bite o' some'at 
to eat, and a glass o y beer, and a place to rest 
a ? s head o*night, without always wan tin 1 
noos, noos, noos? I tell 'ee it's this that 
leads *ee to 'alf the troubles in the world* 
Devil take the noos ! ** 

And turning his back on her, he went 
fuming up the hilh 


^TyO not forget that The Strand Magazine may now be sent post frf.e to British 

soldiers and sailors at home and abroad. AH you need do is to hand your copies t 

without wrapper or address, over the counter at any post-office in the United Kingdom, 

and they will be sent by the authorities wherever they ratfjifaifwtfraffctfwr- 

, . 



. By W. C. P. FORD 

(Author of "Some Fancy Leaps,'' "Supreme Sporting Efforts?* tic). 

EADERS of The Strand Maga- 
zine need hardly be reminded 
that the mimic fray of Sport 
has from time to time produced 
sensational episodes fully as 
stirring as any pertaining to the 
real fray of War. 
The Turf has provided many 
such episodes. A notable instance was that of a 
race at Newcastle-under-Lyme some years back 
between four horses handicapped by Dr. Bellyse 
— the Admiral Rous of his day — when two of 
them — Sir William Wynne's Taragon and Mr. 
Mytton's Handel — dead-heated three times. In 
their third attempt the two horses r&n on till 
they reeled about like drunken men and could 
scarcely carry their riders to the scales. Sir 
John Egerton's Astbury, whe had only been 
beaten by the dead-heaters by a short neck in 
heat one, finally won. It is believed the Turf 
cannot produce another incident like this. 

En passant, it may be mentioned that dead- 
heats between two competitors in any event, 
although improbable, have frequently happened, 
but it is rarely that three competitors dead -heat. 
One of the most astonishing cases that ever 
happened was that at Southampton on July 
23rd, 1907. In a yacht race for twenty-four- 
footers there were six starters, and three of them, 
Susu, Anitra, and Endric, finished dead level. 
In 1857 Prioress, El Hakim, and Queen Bess 
dead-heated in the Cesarewitch. 

The historic match between those equine 
champions. Lord Eglinton's Flying Dutchman 
and Lord Zetland's Voltigeur, is still talked 
of with bated breath up North. It took place 
on the Knavesmere at the York Spring Meeting, 
May 13th, 1 85 1, and more money probably 
rested on the issue than in any other match in 
the annals of horse-racing. The tussle from 
pillar to post was terrific, and when the animals 
passed the stand stride for stride excitement 
reached fever-heat. 

When Flying Dutchman got the best of a great 
finish by a bare length the enthusiasm of the 
enormous crowd of genuine Yorkshiremen reached 
its climax. 

The " superb groan " of Lord George Bentinck, 
in connection with the Derby of 1848, has now 
become historical. Like a later politician, Lord 
Rosebery, it was one of his ambitions to win a 
Derby, and only by a sensational stroke of bad 
luck was he denied the honour. In order that 
he might devote his whole attention to some 

Digitized by LiOOgJ C 

special Parliamentary work he parted with his 
stud of horses, and among those disposed of 
was Surplice, who shortly afterwards won the 
Blue .Ribbon of the Turf. Except his pride, 
he had nothing to console him. " All my life 
I have been trying for this," he remarked, " and 
for what have I sacrificed it ? "• Lord Beacons- 
field testified to his deep dejection for many 
years afterwards. 

Lord George was also connected with the most 
famous Turf quarrel of the nineteenth century. 
From his lofty aristocratic pedestal he deigned 
to look down upon Squire Osbaldeston. and the 
latter, a little, tempestuous, plain-spoken man, 
squirmed under such patronage. They seemed 
bound to clash, and the occasion came at the 
Heaton Park Meeting, immediately following 
the St. Leger Meeting of 1835. The Squire 
possessed a horse named Rush, which he backed 
heavily for the big rsCce on the last day. As 
he walked his horse by the grand stand on his 
way to the starting-post. Lord George shouted 
out in a loud voice, " Two hundred to one against 
Rush." "Done," shouted back Osbaldeston; 
" put it down to me." Rush won easily „ but 
for some reason or the other Lord George 
hesitated to pay up. At the Craven Meeting 
of the next year the Squire came across his 
lordship in front of the Jockey Club rooms 
and said, curtly, " You have had plenty of time 
to digest your loss. I want that two hundred 
pounds I won of you at Heaton Park." Drawing 
himself up, Lord George replied, " You want 
the two -hundred pounds you swindled me out of, 
you mean." But he paid the bet. and, turning 
abruptly away, the Squire shouted, " The matter 
shall not end here, my lord." The sequel was 
a duel. The opponents drew lots as to who 
was to fire first, and Lord George won, but Un- 
accountably his pistol missed fire. Quite coolly, 
although he knew he was facing almost certain 
death — the Squire was a deadly shot — he 
remarked, " Now, Squire, it's two to one on 
you." " Is it ? " retorted his opponent; " then 
the bet's off," and fired in the air. The quarrel 
was made up five years later, and the men 
lived on terms of amiability for the rest of 
their lives. 

At Nairobi, in 1905, when in his fifty-ninth 
year, Sir Claude Champion de Crespigny accom- 
plished a sensational riding feat by doing the 

* His resolutions in favour of the Colonial interest, after mil 
his trouble and labours, had been negatived by the House of 
Commons Co anil fee- tw» day? before the Derby. 






Fr&n v print published bo Mt**rt T Fort: 

" hat-trick " at " the East Africa Turf Club 
Meeting. He won three races in succession, 
equivalent to their Derby, Ascot Cup, and 
Grand National* and was only beaten by a 
short head in his fourth race ! 

What wiJl ever be known as " Hermit's 
Year JJ recalls another sensational Derby episode. 
I 'hero probably was never a race in which more 
people were unwilling winners than on this 
occasion. When Hermit was reported to have 
gone utterly to the bad weeks before the race 
it was found impossible to hedge any money 
that had been invested on him earlier, and so 
thousands of backers most unexpectedly found 
themselves winners in the end, and, as it were, 
in spite of themselves. The sequel is now a 
matter of sporting history — Mr, (now Viscount) 
Chaplin's immense monetary gain and Lord 
Hastings's dramatic suicide,* Hermit subse- 
quently became a veritable gold mine to his 
popular owner for breeding purposes. 

The Taee when Ormonde, the unbeaten t 
Minting, the good but unlucky one, and Ben- 
digo, the hern of a hundred fights and a popular 
idol* met on that famous Ascot Friday will 
always rank as a red-letter one. The attendance 
was enormous, the pent-up excitement well- 
nigh unbearable towards the finish, and the 
furore as Ormonde's grc«ft stride got him home 
by a neck only from Minting absolutely inde- 
scribable. The winner was sold later to a 
foreign purchaser for twelve thousand pounds, 
but before he died an American owner was 
content to pay thirty n^ne thousand two hun- 

* He tost over & hundred thousand pounds on this race alone. 

dred and fifty pounds for the Derby winner 
of 1886, 

In these days, when psychology has attained a 
new and deserved importance, the late Mr, Henry 
Thompson's "ghostly tip" incident is worth 
recalling. It caused a sensation at the time, and 
is vouched for by his brother, Lieut. -Col, R. F. 
Meysey-Thompson, The famous horseman had 
under his charge the favourite for the coming 
Goodwood Stakes, which was sent from Yorkshire 
some days before the meeting commenced, as 
there were few trains at that time, and race- 
horses had frequently to travel by road. Jt was 
therefore necessary that they should arrive a few 
days before a race to recover 'from the fatigue of 
the journey, Mr + Thompson followed a few days 
later, and, having heard there was a famous 
spirit-rapper in London, he decided to go and see 
his performance before his coach left for Sussex, 
He did so, and when the company were asked 
if anyone would like to communicate with any 
particular spirit, he invoked the great trainer , 
Bill Scott, So Bill was called up. The very 
vigorous and characteristic language that was 
rapped out convinced Mr. Thompson* that the 
shade of the trainer was really present. He asked* 
" Who wUl win the Goodwood Stakes ? " and at 
once got the reply, " You won't/ 1 Much taken 
aback, he asked why, and swiftly came the 
response, (f Because he has broken down/ 7 Aa 
nobody knew his identity, or his connection with 
the horse, he was sufficiently impressed by the 

■ Mr, Thompson was not only very famous for his powers a* 
A mesmerist, but to-day would have been a.*, interested as Sir 
Oliver Lodfie in psychica] r tif4"<PFQ [71 





information to go at once to TattersaU's p before 
starting for Goodwood, and hedge aU his money 
be had put on the favourite- Upon reaching 
the stables the trainer exclaimed , " Oh, I'm so 
glad yon have come." " 1 know why," replied 
Mr, Thompson; " I ecause the horse has broken 
down," The trainer was dumbfounded, and 
said, " How do yon know ? There wasn't a soul 
in the saddle- room this morning, and I've kept 
him there ever since we got back/' ,p Ah/ J 
exclaimed Mr, Thompson, " I have a tout you 
know nothing about," and then related his spirit- 
rapping experiences. 

Hunting has been responsible for innumerable 
sensational incidents, notably that fearful catas- 
trophe on February 4 th, 
i 86o, when six followers 
of the York and Ainsty 
Hounds were drowned 
when crossing in a 
ferry-boat not far from 
NewbyWeir, The boat 
was foolishly over- 
loaded, and no sooner 
did it get into the 
stream than the water 
rushed over its sides. 
So closely packed were 
men and horses that it 
swayed once or twice 
badly and then cap- 
sized. It was a case 
of sauve qui peut, and, 
unfortunately, Sir 
Charles Slingsby and 
five of his hunting 
colleagues lost their 
lives, as well as nine 
out of eleven valuable 
horses, Yorkshire long 
mourned some of the 
best horsemen imagin- 
able, and in Sir Charles 
probably the very best 
gen tleman -huntsman 
wh i has ever lived. 

Close! y al 1 1 ed to hu n t- 
ing is steeplechasjng. 
Sensational leaps have 
been accomplished by 

several noted steeplechase horses. Mr. Frank 
Bare hard's Sailor once cleared thirty feet on 
Bullingdon Common, near Oxford, in order to 
settle a dinner- wager made over M the walnuts 
and wine/ J And it is pretty certain that Emblem 
cleared thirty- six feet over water, with a stift 
hedge on the take-nflf side, a fortnight or so before 
winning the Grand National in i*h\. But Major 
William Peel's Chandler is credited with having 
cleared thirty -nine feet at Warwick a few years 
later. Thirteen yards seems an impossible feat 
for anything but a leopard or a kangaroo, yet 
the feat is generally accepted as a record, despite 
the incredulity of various experts to this day. 

Mr. James R, Keene's wonderful trotting 

Digitized by G* 



a world's record in 1904. 

PAbuId, >;•■ -t and f/#n£ral. 


horse Sam Pur day figured in a tragical episode 
in America some few years ago. He was down 
with colic, and, as no " vet " was within reach, 
several ordinary physicians were called upon to 
give him relief. They all declined on the score 
of the dignity of their profession. As a last 
resource, and in the hope that a strong physical 
effort might remove the cause of the colic, Sam 
Purday was literally dragged to the nearest 
track. The fire of his racing blood was evidently 
reki ndled at the sigh t of the oval. The garn e horse 
forgot his sufferings and, with the determination 
of a Christian martyr,, lifted his head and raced 
as he had rarely raced before. But the machinery 
cracked as he proudly swept down the home 
stretch. At the judge's stand he stopped as if 

a bullet had pierced 
his brain, and when 
the group of watchers 
reached him he wa& 
stone d ead * Thus died 
a horse whose trainer, 
M aj or Dai n gerfie Id , s ut> 
sequcntly declared was 
worth more to the State 
of Virginia than the 
whole body of medical 
men put together, 

A thleti C8 p roper have 
resulted in many sen 
sational episodes from 
time to time. A case 
in point was the one 
hundred and thirty -five 
yards running match 
between A. Pestle, the 
great Australian 
sprinter, and the well- 
known trotting horse 
Fred Stockman, on 
April 15th, 190W. A 
long and heated contro- 
versy had been raging 
as regards the respec- 
tive speed of man and 
horse under equal 
condition s } and this 
probably accounted fot 
the immense interest 
taken in this novel 
contest. Long odd* 
horse, but Postle got & 

were wagered on 

magnificent start and ran clean away from him. 

This appeared decisive. The controversy raged 

even louder sub sequent ly, however t and all kinds 

of different tests were demanded, but without 


In 1 904 a new American weight-putter, Mr. 
Ralph Rose, created a mild sensation by easily 
beating all existing records with a " put h ' of 
forty-eight feet three and a half inches- — which 
established a world's record. The young Penn- 
sylvania University student was a veritable 
son Of Anak — as will be seen from the accom- 
panying photograph — standing six feet six inches 
in his shoes and scaling over twelve stone at the 
age of nineteen. As he had frequently got near 

B uriqinalrrom 



to fifty feet in practice, it was hoped he would 
be the first athlete to reach that mark ; but, 
alas 1 death claimed him before he could do so. 
If report be correct, Mr. Rose was once the 
hero of an unrehearsed hammer-throw by 
which he nearly killed one of the onlookers* 
But the incident is by no means unique, Mr. 
T\ Upcher, of O.U.A,C« hurdle- fame, did almost 
the same thing on the old Marston Ground in 
the 'seventies. In his eccentric energies with 
the hammer the St. John's College man badly 
broke his own scout's* arm. 

A propos of Oxford athleticism, the bi others 
N. G, and C M + Chavasse, twin sons of the 
Bishop of Liverpool, and both distinguished 
Blues, used to create endless excitement 

war : these noble brothers also excelled later in 
the greatest of all games. 

President P. J. Baker (CU,A.C.) was the hero 
of a striking episode at the 1910 Inter- 'Varsity 
Sports. He won both the mile and the half- 
mile races, the latter while practically a cripple. 
After victory in the longer race and his return 
to the dressing-room it was found that his foot 
had swollen considerably, so he at once gave up 
any idea of competing in the fl half/' which 
was the last event of the programme. So keenly 
were these sports contested, however, that it 
happened victory or defeat rested" upon that very 
race. Upon hearing this Mr. Baker insisted 
upon running, medical and other expert advice 
despite. He did so, and won amidst wild 


"they were alike as two peas and were the despair of judges and referees/' 

FhoUft Sport tL*d tivMftA 

while together at Trinity College. They were 
alike as two peas, honest rivalry was ultra-keen 
between them on the track, and they were 
splendidly matched at any distance from the 
" hundred " to the H ' quarter/' Whenever they 
met in a race they invariably finished closely 
locked together, and were the despair of judges 
and referees alike. Ottener than not a serious 
consultation had to take place ere a verdict 
could be arrived at, On one occasion when it 
had been given to " N* G./' the very judge who 
had been positive about his success was observed 
heartily congratulating " C. M/ 1 upon getting 
the better of a great finish 9 As in sport, so in 

* Oxford College servant! art called ."* scouts/* those at 
Cambridge "iff**", 

by Google 

enthusiasm, but his final spurt must have 
caused him much agony, It was afterward* 
found he had ruptured every tendon in his foot ! 
As the outcome the King's College man had to 
go on crutches for over a month, 

Sensational shooting feats have been many and 
varied. A man named Topperwein, who hailed 
from Texas, once accomplished the task of 
shooting at hand -thrown targets for ten days 
continuously. He used two -22-bore rifles, firing 
five hundred shots with each in turn, and the 
marks were two and a half inch wood cubes, which 
were thrown up from a point twenty feet away 
from the marksman. He fired seventy-two 
thousand five hundred shots in the ten days, and 




only missed nine times! At one stage he shot 
several series of over thirteen thousand without 
missing once, The feat was almost as remark^ 
able for the endurance shown as for the marks- 
manship, as he shot without a break for eight 
hours each day. 

The Roberts v. Stevenson match of eighteen 
thousand up, in 1905, probably produced the 
most sensational vicissi- 
tudes yet recorded in 
the history of billiards. 
The game was ior a 
stake of five hundred 
pounds, and Roberts 
conceded a start of two 
thousand. Seats during 
the play were invariably 
at a premium. Peers, 
MF.s, High Court 
judges, and notabilities 
in every sphere of life 
were present; while 
the general public 
anxiously followed the 
progress of the fight by 
means of voluminous 
newspaper accounts. 
During the first session 
Rotxjrts was quite out- 
played. At the end of 
the third Stevenson was 
leading by two thou- 
sand eight hundred and 
eighty -five points, and 
his supporters would 
not hear of his defeat. 
But they reckoned 
without the superb 
generalship of the (then) 
champion. He shortly 
afterwards " staggered 
humanity M by scoring 
one thousand two hun- 
dred and ninety - one 
points while his rival 
was amassing four hun- 
dred and thirty -four. 
When he took the Jead 
on the second 1 Tuesday 
afternoon a scene of 
wild enthusiasm was 
witnessed, and, theo- 
retically, his victory 
appeared certain, Re- 
covering his nerve and 
form in wonderful 
fashion, however, at 
only two of the sub- 
sequent sessions did Stevenson fait to again 
out-point his ^reat rival. Leading by seven 
hundred and fifty-nine points at the last, he 
finally won an historic match by one thousand 
five hundred and twenty points. 

In June, 1879, Edward Hanlan, of Toronto, 
the professional sculler, created a world-wide 
sensation hy easily defeating all the recognized 





rtagte 8 

champions of the day in rapid succession. It 
was almost bewildering to see him dispose of 
Edward Trickett, the Australian champion- 
then supposed to be worth backing against 
anybody in the world — with the utmost ease. 
On several occasions he got so far ahead of hia 
opponents as to be able to stop, read a paper, 
and then row on to victory with unruffled cool- 
ness. By some he was accused of trickery. 

one critic going so far 
as to say he had hidden 
machinery somewhere in 
his boat, but he smiled 
at such insinuations, as 
he had smiled at his 
rivals' attempts to be*t 
htm. The secret of his 
amazing success was 
vigour of style coupled 
with a perfect know- 
ledge of sliding - seat 
rowing, then in its in- 
fancy, No other sculler 
has ever created such a 
furore in aquatic circles 
as did this wiry, spare- 
set Canadian. 

That ever-famous old 
Cambridge rowing Bine, 
the Rev, Sidney*Swann, 
V icar of Holbrook, 
Derby, in 1911 accom- 
plished the wondrmH 
feat of rowing across the 
Channel, from Dover to 
Sangatte, east of Calais, 
in faster time by far 
than had ever been 
done be fore- -1. e. t three 
hours fifty minutes. 
The value of his per- 
formance can best lue 
estimated when a 
Frenchman, M t Charles 
Ovium. who rowed irom 
Boulogne to Folkestone 
in seven i hours fifteen 
minutes, is said to have 
held the record pre- 
vi ous 1 y . M r. Swan n w ; 1 s 
fifty years of age when 
he made this record I 
He had many draw- 
backs to contend with, 
notably a good idea of ' 
wash from a large East 
India liner for some 
distance, but, rowing a 
powerful stroke at an 
average of twenty-seven per minute, he safely 
grounded his boat on the French beach, where 
he received a warm reception* 

Mr. Swann, who has performed similar doughty 
deeds in other countries and in many sports, 
must be dubbed one of the very best all-round 
athletes of this or any other age. When in 
Japan he " won most things started for on land 
and sea^rfgjft Y/113'3 Who " tells us : w rowing 




hurdling, cycling, running; pote-j urn ping, weight- 
putting, and hammer-throwing/' And he was 
the first to cycle round Syria. Pur the rest, 
iii a truly eventful career he has cycled 
from Land's 
End to John 
o K Groats, 
rowed a home- 
made boat from 
Crosby Vicarage 
down the rapids 
of Eden to the 
sea, represented 
his University 
against Oxford 
at rowing and 
cycling, an 1 only 
in September 
last, at the age of 
fifty-five, beat 
Lieutenant J. P. 
M uller's land- 
and-water re- 
cord by the big 
margin of two 
minutes fifty- 
nine seconds. 
The task was to 
cycle, walk, 
paddle a canoe, 
scull, and swim 
half a mile each 
inside half an 
hour. Lieutenant Midler's time 
only a few days previously was 
twenty-nine ■ minutes nineteen 
and two-fifths seconds. Outside 
all this, Mr. Swarm has built 
several flying machines, and 
during the present war driven 
a motor- ambulance in He I gi urn. 

The most sensational Hoat 
Race was undoubtedly that be* 
tween Oxford and Cambridge 
decided over the Henley course 
in rS-ij, The Cambridge Sub- 
scription Rooms' rowers, who in 
1 84 i -43 had proved superior to 
the Cambridge University Boat- 
ing Club crew, refused to allow 
a substitute for Mr, J\ MVn/ir.s, 
the Oxford stroke^ who ha I fallen 
ill at the eleventh hour, in the 
tjual of the Grand Challenge race, 
so the Oxonians decided to do 
their best with seven oars. Num- 
ber seven was moved to stroke, 
and bow t] Numbc- seven, the 
bow thwart being left vacant. 
] before Remenham was reached 
it was seen the Dark Blues were 
holding their own, and ultimately 
they won by nearly a length, as 
an old-time ditty had it, " like thoroughbred 
Oxford men/' The scene at the finish was 
unparalleled even for Henley in those days. 

Mr, George Hughes, the stroke of this famous 
" seveil-oared >J eight, was perhaps one of the 
v*L tv.-a 

best aH -round athletes and scholars that Oxford 
has ever produced. He took a. double-first 
in the " Schools," gained his colours for rowing 
and cricket, and in his decadence, after going 
down from the 'Varsity, ho was 
so badly bitten with the golf 
mania, and so severely affected, 
that in 1870 he won the All 
E ngland Cham pionsh ip . These 
feats doubtless qualified him to 
become a J, P. for Herefordshire. 
His brother and biographer was 
the author of the immortal 
,c Tom Brown." 

The boat which carried this 
ever- famous crew had a history 
of its own, unique as the race 
which immortalized her. She 
won all her races for two years, 
and was then laid by in dignified 
repose. In later years she was 
purchased by Mr. Alderman 
Randall, of Oxford, who pre- 
sented to the Oxford University 
Boating Club a chair made of 
that section of her which carried 
the coxswain's seat. This and 
other aquatic relics are still to 
be seen in the Oxford University 
Barge on the I sis,* The 1877 
Inter- 'Varsity race, which Oxford 
is always supposed to have won 
comfortably, was 
the most sensa- 
tional finish in 
its history, 

Mr. B. H. 
Howell, the 
American -Cam- 
bridge sculler 
and English 
champion in 
1898-99, pro- 
vided as big a 
sensation as lias 
ever been wit- 
nessed in the 
Diamond Sculls 
at Henley. 
Pitted in the 
final heat of 1900 
against Mr. E. G. 
Hemmerde, Uni- 
versity College, 
Oxford, a tern lie 
race was won by 
the latter, but 
only after a final 
spurt by Howell 
which fairly 
electrified the 
spec t a tors* 
Such a one will 
probably never be witnessed again at the Royal 
meeting. The winner, now the celebrated King's 

* The Sre relics Include ihe leaders of ihe s^v^ts vici"irious 
Q:ir* imd the Sfetfrt* v^s*s ti^rt &** * four -m red rac* cm 
the Seine in 1^67 b^&Jdillilfa^iel^ 1 Minnie, won by n crew of 








fJMMj RACE ON RECORD. [fiMliaw* 



Counsel and M.P., was, however, fully equal to 
the occasion. 

For the same race in 18&3 Mr + Guy Nickalls 
and Mr. Psotta, the Canadian champion, pro- 
vided another sensation. The Oxonian caught 
a bad crab soon after the start, which, almost 
upset Mm. By a great effort lie kept afloat, 
but by that time Psotta had gone away. Nickalls 
went after him in hot pursuit, and pulled so 
grandly that he was soon on equal terms 
again. Then the Canadian feared his fate. 
Opposite Rernenham Rectory he stole a 
glance at his rival, and then he knew. 
Almost at once he began to roll, he dropped 
his head, and was a beaten man. The sculler 
who " caught a crab " and almost had to 
swim for it, finally won by something like a 
hundred yards ! 

Those readers of The Strand Magazine 
who believe in omens may, perhaps, look upon 

Many people will remember, with a shiver and 
a shudder, the long, sad, and severe winter of 
1878-79, commencing as it did in October, 1878, 
and continuing, with more or less severity, up to 
the middle of May r But they may not know 
that cricketers were swift to take opportunity by 
the hand even thus. Dozens of games were 
played on the ice daily. In one of them, at 
Partington Carrs, Mr, D. H earn eld scored a 
hundred and five (not out). In another, at 
Eridge Park, Lord Henry Neville carried out his 
bat for seventy — a remarkably good innings. 
Two years later a great , game was played at 
Sheffield Park by some well-known Sussex 
cricketers, who distinguished themselves greatly. 
Owing to a thaw, however, it could not be finished. 

Lawn- tennis has produced endless sensations, 
but rarely one so profound as the Championship 
Final at Wimbledon in iBgS t between Mr, Pim, 

t ■ 



Photts //nurfrirtJ. 

the final heat of the Stewards' Cup of 1914— 
the last Henley meeting before the war — as 
an auspicious one. The Leander fou^, stroked 
by Mr. R„ C. Bourne, was pitted against the far 
heavier and better-trained German crew, repre- 
senting the Mayence Rowing Club. The visitors 
had won innumerable trophies on the Continent, 
including the so-called " Championship of 
Europe/* and for some time, at least, they looked 
all over the winners, i'bry wrre a k" ,h -I length 
ahead at the half -distance. Bourne then spurted 
in characteristic style and came up so fast that 
Leander were practically level at the bottom 
of Phyllis Court, at which point N~ umber three in 
the German boat collapsed, and the English- 
men won a truly titanic st ruckle. Will the same 
wearing -down tactics prevail in the grimmer 
struggle between the same nations now being 
fought out ? 

by Google 

the Irish champion, and Dr. H. W t I-ewis, who 
had been called tf the quintessence of brilliance/* 
The Irishman, who was shortly to become in- 
vincible, had only recently recovered from 
typhoid fever, while the brilliant Lewis, the 
" uncrowned champion," as he was also <*alled. 
was in magnificent form. He soon outplayed 
his rival, and, with but one stroke to secure victory, 
drove his adversary well beyond the base line. 
Pirn %vas in extremis, and could do nothing but 
return the ball straight at Lewis, who had tha 
stroke absolutely at his mercy. He had only to 
tap the ball down — anywhere would have done — 
to win the match. Hut he attempted too much 
and volleyed it, a balls breadth outside his own 
back line. Never again did he come within an 
ace of his goal I The game, the set, and finally 
the match went to Pirn, whose reserve of stamina 
made hitti superior at the finish. 






Illustrated by Tom PeJdie; 

HE sound of the firing died 
away fitfully until it could no 
longer be heard by the two 
men listening within the lamp- 
lit room. 

Claud Barry had sat motion- 
less, holding a priceless little 
b't of Umoges enamel daintily in the finger 
and thumtvof one hand, longer than he would 
have supposed possible. 

On the opposite side of the hearth sat his 
new acquaintance, a man whose name was 

They were in the drawing-room of the 
small but luxuriously-appointed house in the 
Campden Hill region, where Barry resided 
when in town. It contained his more or less 
famous" collection of curios, amassed during 
s)me years of idling in the old cities of 
Europe with a full purse and a nice judgment. 
Kempthorne, a young barrister with more 
brains than practice and more taste than 
money, had long desired to examine the, 
treasures of the able connoisseur, and this 
was the first time he had dined in Linley 

They had made acquaintance in the trenches, 
and now that both were at home, one with a 
stiff knee, the other with a delicate throat, 
they found themselves at leisure to follow up 
a beginning based on congenial tastes. 

The intrusion of the air-raid commotion 
upon their pleasant evening was a thing to be 
resented, though it could raise neither surprise 
nor alarm. 

The barrage had been increasing and 
diminishing in intensity as the harassed 
invaders flew hither and thither to escape it. 
Now, for the third time, the mutter of the 
" Archies " died away, and Kempthorne 
tossed the stump of his cigar upon the fire. 

" Dare I beg you to put up with me for a 
bit longer ? " he asked. " The Tubes will be 
impassable, no taxis plying, and I don't feel 
keen upon a five- mile walk in the open until 
the ' All Clear ' has been given out." 

Barry's reply was to touch the electric bell- 
push, and to the man-servant who appeared 
in reply he gave the quiet order : — 

u Mr. Kempthorne remains for the night, 

" Yes, sir," said Bush, calmly, removing 
coffee-cups from the small carved sandalwood 
table which stood at his master's elbow, and 
substituting clean tumblers and a full decanter. 

" This is more than kind, Barry," began 

" Less would be less than human," replied 
Barry, smiling. " I ought to have suggested 
your staying the night when I gave the 
invitation. Five miles return journey is 
enough to put anyone off any excursion, 
however pleasant, in these non-petrol days." 

Kempthorne murmured his hearty thanks, 
and let himself sink back more securely into 
the luxury of his almost incredibly easy chair. 

The moss-green curtains, of silky velvet, 
with appliqu6 border of mingled delicate 
shades, shut away the world outside, and 
enclosed the two men in a haven where all 
was peace and super-comfort. The vis'tor 
thought, not for the first time that night, what 
a charming fellow Barry was, and wondered 
that he had never married. 

" What story lies behind that good firm 
brow, those honest eyes, those friendly lips ? " 
he mused. " Surely th^t is not the character 
to prefer bachelor ease to the far more ex- 
quisite happiness of harmonious marriage ? " 

Bush came in noiselessly with hot water 
and lemons, made up the fire, and turned to 
his master. 




" Shall you be wanting anything more, 

11 Nothing, I think, if you have provided 
Mr. Kempthorne's room with all he is likely 
to need ? " 

" IVf seen to that, sir." 

" Then I think you might all go to bed," 
replied Barry, with a glance at the clock. " It 
seems to be all over." 

The man withdrew, and after a short pause 
the host took up his guest's entertainment at 
the point where it had broken off. His chief 
treasure, a Benvenuto Cellini casket in carven 
gold, was produced, and the adventure 
whereby he had become its possessor recounted. 
Kempthorne listened spell-bound. It was 
hard to believe that the man in a dinner 
jacket, seated in so much comfort here- in 
London, could likewise be the weary, muddy 
subaltern of Armentteres, and, furthermore, 
the young Haroun al-Raschid of the Arabian- 
Nights kind of story now in the telling. 

Then suddenly, into the midst of their 
enjoyment, fell a crash — one huge eruption 
of sound from the silence of the cloudless 
night, which brought each man, with a start, 
to his feet. 

Hard upon it, the anti-aircraft guns broke 
into full cry. Coughing, barking, booming, 
they tore up the stillness, and set the tor- 
mented, air reeling with the continual shock 
of fresh concussions. 

As in a thunder-storm it is the thunder 
which alarms, but the noiseless lightning 
which kills, so in an air-raid it is the defence 
of the guns which strikes terror to the heart, 
and the invisible foe' above who- hurls the 
swift destruction. 

The buhl clock upon the chimney-piece — 
it had once belonged to Marie Antoinette — 
struck the hour. One o'clock in the morning. 

The crash had been so near, so appallingly 
loud, that the two men sought each other's 
faces to see what they should say or do next. 
Neither of them fancied a withdrawal to the 

A further sound now broke. in upon the 
battle overhead. Someone was knocking — 
knocking imperatively, with crashing, vigorous 
strokes, upon the street door. 

" The police ! " exclaimed Barry, realizing 
that the household had gone to bed. " Can 
the fools have left a light burning somewhere ?'' 

He hastened out into the hall, his friend 
following closely. It was a spacious hall, for 
upon taking the house, Barry, who did not 
require many rooms, had thrown the front 
room into the passage, and so made a very 
charming vestibule. 

Digitized by L^OOgle 

It lay now in complete darkness, but the 
master of the house touched a switch as he 
reached the door, and its light fell upon the 
person who stood without. 

It was a young lady — carrying a suit-case, 
clutching an umbrella, and with a countenance 
so distorted by the extremity of terror that 
one could pass no verdict upon her appearance. 

Without waiting to be invited, she actually 
pushed past Barry into the hall, let fall what 
she carrjed, and, turning upon him, made a 
violent gesture to indicate that he should shut 
the door. He did so almost mechanically, 
while she stood, holding on tightly by the 
carved corner of the staircase, and trying in 
vain to speak. After a few convulsive efforts 
she abandoned the attempt, her head drooped, 
and, her hands failing to maintain their hold 
upon the rail, she subsided into a heap on the 

Barry sprang forward, but she was not 
fainting. She motioned him back, and at 
last succeeded in saying something they 
could understand. 

" Not — ill. Only knees — gave way. Can't 
— won't — go outside again ! " 

As she spoke, Kempthorne came slowly 
forward and stood gazing down at her. There 
was a curious light in his eyes. She had 
pulled off a little travelling hat, and the light 
gilded the edges of her clustering fair hair. 
Her head was thrown backward, and there 
was an appeal to melt the stoniest heart in the 
lines of h$r slender throat. 

11 Wine, do you think ? " suggested the 
young man, doubtfully. 

Barry, standing the other side of her, nodded 
silently. As Kempthorne went back into 
the drawing-room to fetch it, he stooped over 
the girl, put his arms firmly about her, and 
lifted her to her feet, which failed to support 
her. She drooped, leaning against him, while 
her breath came in little pants, almost like 

"Are you hurt?" asked Barry, softly. 
u Did anything strike you ? " 

She shook her head. She seemed to have 
reached the very end of her forces. Kemp- 
thorne appeared, carrying a full glass* 

" She's had an awful shock," said Barry, 
taking her hand in his. " She's positively 
cold with terror. Let us take her in and put 
her by the fire before we administer that." 

It ended in his almost carrying her to 
the fireside, and gently depositing her in the 
chair he had so lately vacated. 

There was an anxious silence while they 
administered the stimulant and watched for 
its effect* For what seemed a long while the 




girl lay supine , her beautiful little head upon " I think— I hope — youVe fairly safe here,'* 

the cushions, her breathing growing gradually said Barry, hesitatingly. lh But if you prefer 

less laboured. the cellar ** 

Presently Barry offered more wine. Upon She shook her head as she glanced up at 

that, wuh a smile, she motioned it away ; and him with a charming mixture of deprecation 



presently sat up, looking wonder] ngly around 

The guns were still thundering in ever- 
recurring bursts of fury. But in the har- 
monious, carefully-enclosed room, all was 
peace. She seemed to relax under the spell 
of the warmth and quiet, 

H !byVjQOQie 

and daring. Ic OH, I have behaved out- 
rageously," said she. " I can't think how I 
could / Did I actually knock at your door 
and insist upon your letting me in ? " 

N That's about it ; the wisest thing you 
could do," returned her host, promptly. 

" How kiOfigtMlfHiln I am beginning 




to collect my scattered wits a little now. 

But I saw Oh ! " covering her eyes with 

a smothered cry, " I simply can't tell you 
what I saw." 

" No, no, don't ! " cried Barry, soothingly ; 
but he could not stop her now that she had 

" It was dark just there, I only saw that 
there was something on the pavement — and I 

stopped to look — oh ! And after that 

I ran and ran, till I felt I could not carry my 
bag one step farther ! And just then came 
that crash — terrific — the whole earth rocked ! 
I just ran up the steps of the house I happened 
to be passing. I thought — ' If they have all 
gone to bed — if they leave me out here on the 
door-step, I shall die of sheer terror.' " 

On that she paused, but after a minute 
looked up and cried out hurriedly : " I can't 
go out again ! I'm sorry, but I daren't 
venture into the street ! You won't ask me 
to, will you ? " 

11 You shall do exactly as you like," said 
Barry, quietly. His calm and his decision 
had their due effect. After eating a biscuit 
and sipping a little more wine, she became 
more natural and calmer) the fact that the 
tumult of the firing was subsiding con- 
tributing materially to her recovery. 

Now that she sat there in comfort, almost 
completely reassured, one saw that she was 
a beautiful girl, with a beauty of an uncommon 
type, rather more brilliant, or more subtle, 
than the English style. Her turn-out was 
expensive and distinguished ; as the warmth 
of the fire caused her to open the cloak which 
had wrapped her — black supple satin edged 
with fur — it could be seen that she was wearing 
an evening-gown of pale-tinted silk, with a 
bociice composed mainly of chiffon. Evi- 
dently she had hastily clad herself for walking 
through the streets, and she laughed and 
blushed when presently her eyes fell upon 
her flesh-coloured silk stockings and her 
satin shoes. 

" How horrid I look ! " said she, shame- 
facedly. " Just like they do on the stage 
when they run away in the middle of the night ! 
Well, that is just what I have done ; and I 
am afraid I thought more of collecting my 
special treasures than of changing my most 
inappropriate frock ! " 

The two men were silent, but for suitable 
murmurs of sympathy. It seemed they 
waited to hear more ; and in response to 
their unspoken invitation, she continued: — 

" I live in a flat — the top floor of Bedruthan 
Mansions — you know it ? " They both as- 
sented. " My aunt and uncle live with me, 

Digitized by O* 

but my uncle has been away, doing a cure at 
Bournemouth. Last week he was taken- ill 
and my aunt went off to him, leaving me 
alone. I had various engagements to keep 
in town, and I never thought of raid^. 
Somehow it was unexpectedly terrifying to 
find myself alone, upon the very top of that 
high place. I — I bore it for a cojuple of nights,, 
but when it began again to-night, it simply 
broke down my nerve, and I felt I could not 
bear it. I didn't stop to think, but packed a 
few things and dashed downstairs. There 
the porter told me I couM pot get a taxi, and 
urged me to,go and sit in the basement, but I 
was beyond reach of reason, and I thought, 
as*there was a Waterloo Tube Station so near, 
I would risk it and make a dash. Out in the 
street it was terrible. The people, the awful 
scene— I really don't know where I went, nor 
how I got hare." 

" Well," said Barry, good-humouredly, " if 
a raider gets you here, it shall be over our 
dead bodies, I promise you." 

She smiled at him, leaning back hi the huge 
chair, in which she lay rather like a flower on 
a long stem. Kempthorne was suddenly 
oddly conscious of being number three. 

Barry suggested that she should wait until 
the " All Clear " signal was given out, and 
that his friend and he would then escort her 
anywhere she liked — perhaps to the house of 
some friend where she could shelter. 

She looked doubtful. " I would have to 
know people very intimately to be knocking 
them up between three and four o'clock in 
the morning — that is if I was in my right 
senses at the moment, " she corrected herself „ 
with a flitting smile. " As a matter of fact, 
I hardly know anybody just round here, for 
we came to London from the West of England, 
and .have only lived here a few months. No 1 
I'll go back to Bedruthan Mansions as soon 
as it is safe." 

11 You certainly mustn't go before," said 
Barry, his fine face kindling as he leaned 
forward, all his being focused upon the beauty 
of the stranger beside his hearth. 

Kempthorne could not help wondering 
whether the air-raid had deposited upon his 
friend's doorstep something almost as disin- 
tegrating in its effects upon his life as a bomb 
would have been. He stirred uneasily as he 
marked the knight-errant expression upon 
Barry's eloquent face. He looked repeatedly, 
but very guardedly, from one to the other, 
marking the give and take — the invitation 
and the response — both of which seemed to 
be more than half unconscious. 

Time passed on, and no " All Clear " bugles 





were heard. Barry rose and went to the 
window, parting the curtains and gazing out 
into the empty stillness of the moon-flooded 

He sauntered back, and spoke, standing 
belaud the visitor's < hair. 

'* You can't go," he began to say, when a 
peculiar smile and gesture of the head from 
Kempthorne made him come round to the 
hearth and look more closely. The girl had 
fallen asleep, almost instantaneously. 

She was so attractive in her helpless 
lassitude as she lay there in the subdued light 
of the carefully- screened lamps that the 
colour came up slowly under Barry's dark 
skin and he stood motionless , unaware how 
expressive was his face of what he felt. 

Kempthorne, perhaps intentionally 3 moved 
his foot S3 that the poker was dislodged, and 

Digitized by G. 

fell with a clatter. The girl started upright, 
and her face of consternation was amusing. 

" Oh ! " she said ; and again " Oh I " 
continuing hurriedly, t( I don't know how to 
apologize. You see, I have had no sleep for 
the past three nights, and I feel as if I simply 
can't keep awake. If "—her look grew 
wistful and she seemed to beseech Barry with 
her eyes — ■" if you would both go to bed 
and let me stay here, by this delicious fire— I 
should be so comfortable, and it would not 
be putting you to much trouble, would it ? " 

" If you will honour me so far/' began 
Barry, halting ridiculously. 

She dropped her lids. " You have been so 
kind —otherwise I should not dare to ask it. 
But I know I am safe — here." 

There was a meaning, tremulous but 
evident, in-, her .voice, which referred to a 




safety from other dangers than bombs ; and 
the young man's response was immediate. 

" You gratify me more than 1 can say/' 

11 1 ought, perhaps, to tell you my name " 
she went on, more timidly than she had yet 
spoken* " It is Beatrice Leith," 

" I am Claud Barry," he replied. " I will 
fetch you an eider- 
down quilt. Miss 
Leith, and, in the 
meantime, my friend 
will make up your 

The simple arrange- 
ments were soon 
complete* The two 
young men then 
with drew 3 leaving the 
guest in possession. 

They went upstairs 
together in perfect 
silence, but when 
Barry had ushered his 
friend into the guest- 
room prepared for 
him, he lingered a 
moment, and spoke, 

"I had nearly 
offered her this room, 
Kempthorne ; but her 
delicacy might have 
shrunk from that." 

41 1 have no doubt 
at all," replied Kemp- 
thorne, a shade coldly, 
" of her being far 
better suited where 
she is, or I should, of 
coursej have made the 
offer myself," 

Barry smiled appre* 
datively. " I am sure 
you would* Well ! 
This is a strange hap- 
pening. One would 
hardly expect such an 
adventure in London 

" These are the days 
of adventure come 
back," replied Kemp- 
t ho r ne, thou glitful I y . 

*■ Security leaves no room for adventure ; 
but all our security passed away in iQi4 t and 
we have reverted to a state of things in which 
the uncertainty of life draws strangers together 
in a common bond — the desire of safety." 

Barry stood by the fire, lightly touching 
the coals with his hoot. 

Digitized by Google 

" She must be thoroughbred," he remarked, 
shyly. " She betrayed no consciousness when 
she found she had stumbled upon a house 
containing a couple of men. Anything 
might have happened ,, but her confidence in 
us was — well, it wns superb, wasn't it ? " 
That amused Kempthorne, " Well, you 
are the type of man 
that any woman 
would confide in on 
sight, I should say ! 
Don't be too modest T 
Barry." He stretched, 
yawned a little* and 
went on : " Well— it's 
good of you to put me 
up, and I'm grateful. 
Perhaps, one day, I 
shall be able to show 
you that I'm rcallv 

Barry bade him 
good night with a 
shade of surprise in 
his eyes. He thought 
his friend must have 
been a trifle shaken 
by the raid and its 
attendant circum- 
stances. '*You've 
already handed me all 
the gratitude I can 
do with/' said he, 
smiling as he with- 

" IN 


Gradually the stars 
grew faint and the 
dawn crept on. The 
houses in Linley 
Square lay silent, 
showing paler and 
paler as the darkness 
passed away. In 
Barry's house, be- 
tween half-past five 
and six o'clock, there 
was audible a slight 
sou nd — tl iat of tl te 
slow and cautious 
opening of the draw- 
ing-room door, 
It might have escaped the ear of anyone 
not on the watch ; but a young man who had 
been sitting upon the stairs lifted his head 
with a start, listened intently, and present Iv 
saw through the gloom, which still filled 
the curtained hall, the gradual opening of 
the street-^pjj^^lp^^ appearance of an 





oblong patch of half-light from the dawn 

In this oblong was instantly outlined the 
figure of a girl, who slipped noiselessly forth 
into the Square, closing the door swiftly but 
carefully behind her. 

Kempthorne was immediately upon his 
feet, had darted across the hall, let himself 
out, and was Just in time to see Miss Leith 
hurrying towards the turning at the corner 
of the Square. 

He ran lightly after her, and had overtaken 
her in a moment. She turned with a visible 
start as she heard his voice saying: — 

" Now, you know, I was afraid of this ! 
Let me carry your bag, won't you ? " 

Miss Leith stopped dead, facing him with 
eye*, of shame, as of one detected in some 
nefarious design. . 

" Oh ! " said she, " is it you ? Well, I am 
half sorry and half glad. I did feel a bit 
remorseful at creeping out like this, without 
waiting to thank that delightful Mr. Barry 
for his hospitality. But, you know, I felt so 
awkward — it was such an embarrassing 
position, wasn't it ? I didn't know what I 
should say or do if one of the servants walked 
in and found me there ! So, when I awakened 
and looked at the time, I decided I would slip 
away now and write my thanks later." 

" Just what I expected would happen," 
said Kempthorne, pleasantly. " But I reflected 
that you could find no cab, no train, no bus 
at this hour, so I determined to be on hand, 
that I might carry your suit-case for you." 

" Oh, but I couldn't think of giving you 
any more trouble on my account." 

He laughed as he took possession of what 
she carried. " You didn't take much notice 
of me last night," he said, mischievously. 
" You and that grand fellow, Barry, were too 
deeply occupied, making friends. Now you 
must let me have my innings ; for, though 
you took no account of me, I can assure you 
the indifference wasn't mutual. Why, how 
could you have dreamed that you could carry 
this heavy bag all the way to Bedruthan 
Mansions ? And, when you get there, the 
porter will probably need to be roused." 

" Oh," said she, hurriedly, "I'm not going 
back there, after all. I've decided to get 
down to Bournemouth as fast as I can. I'll 
go to the Tube, there is a very early workman's 
train ; and, if you really are so kind " 

He laughed. " Do you suppose that such 
an adventure as you supplied to us last night 
comes into my life every day ? " he asked. 
" You must let me make the most of this." 

In spite of his gallantry, Miss Leith seemed 

Digitized by Google 

much distressed at his having curtailed his 
already short night in order to be of service 
to her. She earnestly begged him to allow 
to continue her way alone. He, of course, 
stoutly declined ; and when they had gone a x 
little way along the deserted road they were 
following, there loomed into sight a man of 
most unpleasant appearance, a creature of 
the night, who was loitering along as though 
on the look-out for some belated, unprotected 
thing. He eyed the girl so insolently as he # 
walked past that Kempthorne remarked, as 
soon as he was out of hearing : — 

" There ! Do you tell me that it would 
have been right for me to leave you to en- 
counter a beast like that, alone ? " 

She coloured with alarm, and gasped out : 
" You are quite right, of course ! Thank you ! " 

Kempthorne had turned round. " The 
cad has stopped and is looking back at us," 
he said. " He had better stay where he is. 
I can put up my fists as well as any man> I'm 
glad to say." 

" Oh, come along ! Let us get quickly to 
the station ! " she cried, urgently. " I feel as 
if all this were a bad dream ! " 

"I wish it were," said Kempthorne, ab- 
ruptly ; and she eyed him, puzzled. 

" What do you mean by that ? " 

" I'll leave you to guess," was the reply, 
seeming by its inflection to convey isome 
highly complimentary meaning. It left her 
silent ; and they walked on some little way 
before the young man resumed : — 

" And so this is the second time you and I 
have met. I wonder if it will be the last ? " 

" The second ? " she asked, bewildered. 
" When was the first ? " 

" I could see, last night, that you did not 
remember it," he replied, " and therefore, of 
course, I said nothing. In fact, I am not 
myself quite certain, though almost. I hope 
to make sure before we part." 

" What do you mean ? " she demanded, as 
though his intent manner agitated her 
painfully. "I'm sure I haven't seen you 
before- — ■" 

"Is it likely that I should make the im- 
pression upon your mind which you must 
infallibly produce upon mine ? " he wished 
to know. 

" You're trying to tease ! " she cried, 

" Yes, in order to Be revenged upon you 
for giving me this weight to carry before 
breakfast. How you could ever have sup- 
posed you could lug it to the Tube yourself ! 
If I had not happened along, that loafer 
would have offered to take it from you, and 




a nice mess you 

would have been 

in then, would 

you not? — since 

he is the sole 

creature we have 

met, so far." 
She looked 

quite frightened. 

" Oh, I am grate- 
ful to you! lam 

most grateful ! 

But don't tease 

any more. Tell 

me where you 

and I have met 


11 1 am expect- 
ing," he replied, 

" that you will 

be able to re- 
member, before 
we part, without 
being told?' 

As he spoke, 
they had turned 
the comer into 
the main tho- 
roughfare, where 
was the station 
for which they 
were making. 
Upon the pave- 
ment j advancing 
towards them 
with slow and 
measured tread, 
was a big police- 
man, K e m p - 
thome continued 
his light banter 
of his companion 

until they were close to this imposing 
individual, when he suddenly gripped Miss 
Leith by the arm, setting down the suit- 
case upon the pavement as he did so, and 
said, in a sharp, clear voice : — 

*' Constable, J wish to have this suit- 
case opened in my presence, and to see its 

The girl uttered a queer cry, and would 
have run had he not been prepared. *' He Id t 
Help!" she called. ' * ' 

Hie policeman glanced suspiciously from 
her to Kempthorne. Their arnica ble approach 
had misled him, 

u What's this here ? " he asked, doubtfully. 

The barrister explained. 

(f This young lady knocked at the door of 




the house where I was staying last night and 
demanded shelter from the air-raid," . It is 
the house of a well -known collector of valua- 
bles, Mr. Barry, who gladly accorded the 
fullest hospitality. At her own request she 
was left to sleep on a sofa in the room where 
the valuable articles were, I kept watch, 
and detected her stealing from the house at 
dawn, with a suit-case which weighs v rv 
heavily, and was very light when she lef it 
in the hall overnight. I was one of 
junior counsel employed last summer 
watch the interests of a "client in the Hepwo 
case. This young lady, under the name 
Mabel Dudley, was one of the prim; 
witnesses,, and her appearance and man 
so favobfllB^ttnprcssed judge and jury t 







Hepworth got off — much to my own indigna- 
tion. On leaving the house this morning she 
was met by a man whom I also recognized as 
one of those who was under suspicion then. He 
was evidently prowling about on the watch 
for her. I demand that she be taken to the 
police-station, and her luggage examined." 

Barry, the knight-errant, opened his eyes 
that morning with a sense that something 
delightful had happened, and that the adven- 
ture was not yet over. He was just about to 
ring for his man and give directions when 
there came a loud rap on his door, and Bush 
entered with confusion and dismay. 

11 Good Lord, sir ! " cried the servant, 
forgetting all respect in the exigency of the 
moment. " Here's a pretty thing ! That 
gent, as came here to dine last night for the 
first time, and you said he was to stay the 
night ! He's gone, sir — cleared ! And every 
blessed thing out of your locked cabinets in 
the drawing-room with him ! Diamond snuff- 
box, ruby signet, Rennaysongs vawse, and 
everything ! " 

Barry came out of bed with a spring. He 
stood for a moment like a man turned into 

" Kempthorne ! " incredulously ; then, with 
sudden terror: " What about the young 
lady ? " 

The man looked blank. " What young 
lady, sir ? " 

Barry was white as a sheet. " The young 
lady who took shelter here from the air- 
raid. She went to sleep — by the fire — in the 
drawing-room " 

Bush looked as though he could hardly 
believe in his master's folly. " Accomplishes, 
sir!" he cried, loudly. "They was in 
league, sure enough ! Accomplishes, as I'm 
alive this day! Shall I send for the police, 

Barry sat down as if he could not face the 
blow. " I'll come and see first — see for 
myself," he muttered, miserably. 

" Skipped they 'ave and without leaving a 
trace," remarked Bush ; and was proceeding 
to enlarge upon the theme, when the tele- 
phone at the side of his master's bed rang 

Barry was there, with a bound, and sat, 
shaking with agitation, while a voice came 
along the wire. 

" I want Mr. Barry — that you, Barry ? — ? 
You yourself ? Right ! I'm Kempthorne." 

u Kempthorne ! " cried Barry, in his surprise. 

" Kempthorne, certainly. I want you to 
dress as fast as you possibly can and come 
round to the police-station. Bring a cata- 
logue with you, to identify your stuff. I 
think it's all here, but it's as well to make 
sure " 

" Kempthorne — Kempthorne — you don't 
tell me it was " 

" The young lady refugee ? Oh, yes, it 
was she, right enough. When she first 
turned up, last night, I knew I had seen her 
somewhere before. Presently I remembered 
where. She was called as a witness in a shady 
'case. GaVe her evidence so clearly and well 
that she got the man off. I say, didn't she 
do the thing to a turn last night ? She almost 
blinded even me, whose suspicions were on 
the alert. Astonishingly convincing — What ? 
. . . Oh, well, you see, I was determined to 
make sure, as some slight return for ^our 
hospitality to me. I sat on the stairs and 
watched, and then as I expected, she slipped 
out, and I followed. Even then I could 
hardly feel certain, she played up so well. 
But before long we met a man with a face I 
knew, mooching along, evidently waiting for 
her, and I was sure I had been right, all along. 
I went on playing up until I met a bobby, and 
then I handed her over. Will you come along 
and run your eye over the stuff, and charge 
her formally ? " 

Barry sat so long silent, the receiver to his 
ear, that Kempthorne cried: — 

" Have they cut us off ? " 

"No. I'm here. All right. I'll send 
Bush for a taxi at once." 

Laying down the receiver, Barry briefly 
explained the situation to his servant. 
v " Mr. Kempthorne has proved himself a 
very active friend," said he, with a lack of 
enthusiasm which seemed to Bush very 

" But I'm determined on one point," the 
collector of curios muttered to himself, as 
he hurriedly put on his clothes. " I shall 
not prosecute." 

And, in spite of the signal service rendered 
to him by the acute barrister, their acquaint- 
ance never ripened into anything like the 
intimate friendship which had at one time 
seemed probable. 

by Google 

Original from 

What is the 
Greatest Deed of V alour ? 

What is the greatest deed of valour in our history? Two great writers — 
Tennyson and Robert Louis Stevenson— selected the story of Sir Richard Greenville 
of the Revenge. Everybody knows Tennyson's ballad ; Stevenson's description 
is as follows: — , 

I must tell one more story, which has lately been made familiar to us all, and that in one of the noblest 
ballads in the English Language, I had written my tame prose abstract, I shall beg the reader to belie ve, 
when I had no notion that the sacred bard designed an immortality for GreenviEle. Sir Richard Greenville was 
Vice' Admiral to Lord Thomas Howard, and Layoff the Azores with the English squadron in 1591. He 
was a noted tyrant to his crew : a dark bullying fellow apparently ; and it is related of him that he would 
chew and swallow wineglasses, by way of convivial levity, till the blood ran out of his mouth, When the 
Spanish fleet of fifty sail came within sight of the English/ his ship, the Revenge, was the last to weigh 
anchor, and was so far circumvented by the Spaniards that there were but two courses open— either to turn 
her back upon the enemy or sail through one of his squadrons. The first alter native Greenville dismissed as 
dishonourable to himself, his country, and 1 Her Majesty's ship. Accordingly, he chose the latter, and steered 
into the Spanish armament. Several vessels he forced to luff and fall under his lee ; until, about three 
o'clock of the afternoon, a great ship of three decks of ordnance took the wind out of his sails, and imme^ 
diately boarded, Thenceforward, and a]] nigh* long, the Revenge held her own stngje- handed against the 
Spaniards. As one ship was beaten off, another took its place. She endured, according to Raleigh's 
computation, 'eight hundred shot of great artillery, besides many assaults and entries." By morning the 
powder was spenh the pikes all broken, not a stick was standing, "nothing left overhead either for flight 
or defence" ; six feet of water in the hold; almost all the men hurt ; and Greenville himself in a dying 
condition. To bring them to this pass a fleet of fifty sail had been mauling them for fifteen hours, the 
Admiral of (he Huik-i and the Ascension of Seville had both gone down alongside, and two other vessels 
had taken refuge on shore in a sinking state. In Hawke's words, they had taken a great deal of 
drubbing/' The captain and crew thought i hey had done about enough; but Greenville was not of this 
opinion ; he gave orders to the master gunner, whom he knew to be a fellow after his own stamp, to scuttle 
the Revenge where she lay. The others, who were not mortally wounded like the Admiral, interfered with 
some decision ; locked the master gunner in his cabin, after having deprived him of his sword, for he 
manifested an intention to kill himself if he were not to sink the ship ; and sent to the Spaniards to demand 
terms. These were granted. The second or third day after, Greenville died of his wounds aboard the 
Spanish flagship, leaving his contempt upon the " traitors and dogs"' who had not chosen to do as he did, 
and engage fifty vessels, well found and fully manned, with six inferior craft ravaged by sickness and short 
of stores. He at least, he said, had done his duty as he was bound to do, and looked for everlasting fame. 

Is this the most gallant deed in our history ? [f it is, what exploit should rank 
second to it? If it is not. what deserves to be set above it? We have submitted 
this question to several eminent writers, and their replies form a most interesting and 
thrilling symposium, a first instalment of which has already appeared. 


SSL" REDLY I will not admit 
that the great fight of the 
Hetenge was the most gallant 
deed in English history. It 
was one of the most striking. 
The British Empire rests on a 
foundation of thousands of 
deeds as gallant. 
As soon, indeed, as anyone tells me that 
any deed is the most gallant in English 
history others at least as gallant come throng- 
ing into my mind. In what respect, for 
example, is the Charge of the Light Brigade on 
the Russian guns at Balaclava a less gallant 
deed than the tight of the Revenge ? Cavalry 
charging guns takes on hardly less odds than 


a warship lighting fifty, The Light Brigade 
could have been buoyed up by no such expecta- 
tion of serving their country by inflicting heavy 
damage on the enemy as were the men of the 
Revenge. They knew that with their bigger guns 
they could, as they did, take a heavy toll of 
the Spanish Heel ; they knew that they would 
exact an extravagant price for their lives, The 
Light Brigade must have known that it was 
being sacrificed for next to nothing. The creiv 
of the Revenge fought a longer fight ; but the 
fight of the Light Brigade while it lasted was 

In what respect, a^ain, was the defence of 
Rorke J s Drift a less gallant deed than the fight 
of the iiipicnfJpaPl fiait&sted longer; and it was 




fought against odds, if anything, greater. It 
is true that the defenders knew that it was a 
tight to the death, that the Zulus would not 
spare a soul. But though the survivors of 
the crew of the Revenge 
made terms in the end, 
they entered on the fight 
in the full conviction 

"rorke's drift." 

that, if they did not die fighting, they would 
perish yet more miserably at the hands of the 
Inquisition. In both fights the incentive to 
endure till death was equal. 

To take an affair of another kind, consider 
the conduct of the crew and the troops on the 
sinking Birkenhead, In what respect did they 
fall short in gallantry of the crew T of the Revenge ? 
If anything, their behaviour was even more 
gallant. It requires more courage to stand still 
and await the slow approach of death than to 
meet it fighting, working your guns with the 
heartening knowledge that you arc destroying 
the enemies of your country, and now and again 
spurred to fiercer energy by furious hand-to- 
hand struggles. 

I have little doubt that the troops on the 
Birkenhead endured, during the shorter period 
of their waiting for the ship to sink under them, 
a greater stress of emotion, a greater strain on 
their fortitude, than did the crew of the Revenge 
in all the fifteen hours they fought. 

The psychological factor should also have 
its weight. The men of the days of Elizabeth 
were of harder, rougher stuff than the men of 
the days of Victoria. Certainly Sir Richard 
Greenville himself was nearer the brute than any 

officer on the Birkenhead, Their men did not 
go in such fear of them as did the men of the 
Revenge of him. Taking everything into account, 
I should be inclined to award the palm for gal- 
lantry to the men of the Birkenhead, I prefer, 
however, to believe that in their different ways 
their gallantry was equal. 

1 see no reason to doubt that in the campaigns 
of Marlborough, the campaigns 
of Wellington, the Crimea, the 
Indian Mutiny, and the Boer 
War there were thousands of 
deeds as gallant as the fight 
of the Revenge, and that in 
the war we are fighting to-day 
there have already been as 
many deeds as gallant as that 
fight as in all the rest of the 
history of England. How 
many a battalion has gone 
into action a thousand strong 
and come back less than two 
hundred ? 

I take the latest list of V.C.'s 
and I read : — 

Bar to V.C. 
Captain Noel Godfrey 
Chavasse, V.C, M.C., 
late R.A.M.C, attached 

Though severely 
wounded early in the 
action whilst carrying a 
wounded soldier, Captain 
Chavasse refused to leave 

x^tDfcaskV^ n ' s P ost * and fc>r twQ days 

not only continued to 

perform his duties, but 
in addition went out 
repeatedly under heavy 
fire to search for and 
attend to the wounded. During these 
searches, although practically without food 
during this period, worn with fatigue 
and faint with his wound, he assisted to 
carry in a number of badly -wounded men 
over heavy and difficult ground. By his 
extraordinary energy and inspiring example 
he was instrumental in rescuing many 
wounded who would otherwise have un- 
doubtedly succumbed. This devoted and 
gallant officer subsequently died of his 
Set Captain Chavasse beside Sir Richard 
Greenville — which is the more gallant man ? 
Captain Chavasse began his struggle severely 
wounded, he exposed himself to as great danger, 
he displayed no less energy, and that though 
faint with hunger, and he endured for tw T o days, 
without the stimulus of himself taking a hand 
in the fighting. How could a man display 
greater valour ? 

Eater down the same list I read how Sergeant 
William H, Grimba Ides ton, under very heavy 
fire, made his way to the entrance of a Hun 
blockhouse and, armed with a hand grenade, 
forced six Hun machine jj,nji t ihls and the Unm 
of a trench nn@fcic| i rtoa I ip&ffndcr. Thirty- six 




men, six machine-guns, and a trench mortar are 
odds enough against one man with a hand 
grenade. Bear in mind, too, that not more 
than one in ten men who have earned it actually 
gets the Victoria Cross. 

These are all deeds on record. They have, 
found their historian, poets have sung of them, 
painters have painted them. But what of the 
thousands of unrecorded deeds of valour which 
have found no historian, no poet, and no painter ? 
What of the thousands of unrecorded dead who 

fought the hopeless fight against hopeless odds 
till the last cartridge was spent and the sword, 
the musket, or the rifle fell from the hand of the 
last man dead ? It is not fair to these to talk 
of the greatest deed of valour. We do not know 
it ; we cannot know it. All these deeds, re- 
corded or unrecorded, are a part of the story 
of England ; and I say that the British Empire 
has been built on thousands of deeds every 
whit as gallant as the fight of the Revenge. 
Were it not so, there would be no British Empire. 


There can be no such thing as the greatest 
deed of valour, for it is the very essence of 
such deeds that they are incommensurable 
and have their own glory. A man might as 
soon pick out the greatest star. Nor can we 
say it could be found in war, if found at all ; 
for which of us can measure the courage of 
Regulus or Greenville against that of Luther or 
Mahomet ? Indeed it could be argued that he 
is the bravest man who performs no single 
shining act but, selecting a course full of 
hazard, possible disaster, and even personal 
dishonour, persists in 'it till the end. To face 
death is much, but not so great a thing as to 
endure perpetual stress or prolonged torture. 
In the records of the Inquisition are many 
monuments to heroes. He who dies in battle 
on land or sea is mostly helped by his fellows, 
and from them draws strength. He belongs to 
an organized body, he ceases to be an individual, 
and is endowed with gifts not wholly his 

The solitary sniper may be a greater hero than 
the leader of a forlorn hope at Badajoz, and the 
tortured Indian at the stake surpass a victorious 
admiral. " There are livers out of Britain " and 
heroism is no rarity. After all, we are all men, 
and, save for some disease or organic failure, 
partake of human nature, which is essentially 
brave, full of energy, and for ever faces in- 
evitable death. By the history of the word valour 
means wellness, capacity to stand stress. By 
standing it through ages mankind came to be 
what it is. But no one can say what is its 
most shining quality. Now we think of those 
who die for us, and indeed for themselves (since 
a man is part of his race), and endure by land 
and sea. Can Greenville or Drake or any old 
ancient sea or land captain surpass them ? 
It may be that as stresses multiply men grow 
braver. If so the future holds more heroism in it 
than the past and the present hour is greater 
than yesterday. 

I spoke of such men as Luther, Mahomet, or 
sh^ll we say Cromwell ? These were pioneers. 
They needed not the common courage of the 
past or present but courage for the future. So 
do the pioneers who are explorers. Those who 
died at Ypres or Mons or on the Vimy Ridge 
are brothers to Eyre and Burke and Wills, who 
cut paths in the Australian wilderness, enduring 
thirst and hunger and intolerable heat, with 

death at hand daily. If valour indeed implies 
the strength to endure, such men might btar 
away the palm, and with them might stand 
many castaways at sea whose name no man 
knows. Truly the more we think of it* the more 
we see that the highest award falls to certain 
brave men by accident. They know th;.t 
better than any and are often ashamed to I e 
chosen from their fellows. And there are m* n 
covered with deserved decorations who would 
yield the palm for courage to some heroes m 
a fiery pit or even in a London drain. To yt • 
down into darkness and die by those a m; -\ 
would save is more. than many deeds wroupht 
in battle. 

Each man has his own notion of what is re. 1 
valour. The deed that deserves it is the t:*>k 
he thinks he would most likely fail at if it \u r* 
asked of him. For my own part I have mere 
admiration for saCh men of science as h: vt- 
knowingly sacrificed their health and life for 
the advancement of learning and the help of 
humanity than for any warrior, even the noblest. 
In the records of medicine are many such heroes 
who, in the quiet of their laboratory and without 
the encouragement of the many to cheer them 
on, have inoculated themselves with disease 
and have made observations till they died. 
Then there were those who, when X-n ys 
were first discovered, devoted themselves to 
research into all their possibilities, and knowing 
the danger they ran, dangers hardly yet 
obviated, persisted in their work so long as 
they could endure the agonies of cancer 
Though they died daily they did not flinch, 
secure only of the immortality which consists 
in the simple and unemotional records of 
scientific research. " None died that day with 
greater glory, yet many died and there was 
much glory." So spake Napier of a splendid 
soldier, but who knows the names of the X-ray 
heroes ? Their real reward was in themselves. 
They died not only for a nation but for «*U 
humanity. I know of no deeds on the historic 
sea or on all the battlefields of our nation or 
any nation which surpass these, and soldiers 
or seamen would be the first to admit the fact. 
Even though our minds and hearts are now full 
of gratitude and thankfulness for their military 
courage and endurance, we may reasonably feel 
that the valour of the field or sea can be surpassed 
by many lmityrj, 





In times like these it is well to stay and reckon 
up tile qualities of real men, discovering as we 
do so that self- sacrifice is the essence of their 
glory. If in such a search we find within our- 
selves even the poorest seed which in heroes grows 
so wonderfully, we 
may legit imat el y 
be proud, and 
bumble, in the 
thought of our 
common humanity. 
Pessimism is easy; 
if optimism is often 
cheap, and when 
depression comes it 
is good to recount 
once more tho. 
qualities which arc 
in man and only 
need some great 
stimulus to evoke 
them. To do 50 is 
not to fall into the 
b umorous parttcu - 
larism of the little 
town not far from 
Naples whose in- 
habitants erected 
a monument in all 
solemnity to their 
own valour. Yet 
we may at least admit with Herman Mel- 
ville, in his great hook, " Moby Dick," that 
man is at least a manly creature. He says : 
-< Men may have mean and meagre faces ; 
but man, in the idea], is so noble and so 
sparkling, such a grand and glowing creature, 
that over any ignominious blemish in him all 
his fellows should run to throw -their costliest 
robes* That immaculate manliness we feel 
wit Hi n ourselves* so far within us, that it remains 
intact though all the outer character seem gone ; 
bleeds with keenest anguish at the undraped 
Spectacle of a valour-ruined man* , . , If then, 
to meanest mariners, and renegades and casta- 
way s, I shall hereafter ascribe high qualities, 
though dark ; weave around them tragic graces ; 
if even the most mournful, perchance the most 
abased, among them all p shall at times lift him- 
self to the exalted mounts ; if I shall touch 
that workman's arm with some ethereal 
light ; if I shall spread a rainbow over his dis- 
astrous set of sun ; then against all mortal 
critics bear me out in it, thou just Spirit of 
Equality, which hast spread one royal mantle 
of humanity over all my kind ! " This, no 
doubt, is rhetoric, but it persuades us, as surely 
as the simplest language, that undestroyed and 
undebauehed man under great stimulation is 
naturally and truly great. Though we should 
t>e ready with encouragement I doubt if we 
should - exalt overmuch those who, under stress, 
show that this is their nature, rather reserv- 
ing, as Melville did, grief for those who fail 
and do not answer. 

I have said that deed usually seems to all 
Gf us the bravest which we ourselves are least 
capable of achieving. This is why the true 

hero is modest. He thinks of things done by 
others which he could not have done. He is 
almost ashamed 0! having his action recorded. 
To work according to one's nature is easy, and 
deeds wrought under the stimulus of a fine 

and true instinct 
seem wrought 
unconsciously* They 
are the more 
splendid for that 
in some ways, for 
the man could do 
no other* He 
worked perfectly. 
Is he braver than 
the man who fears / 
and does his work ? 
" Colonel, you are 
afraid/' said one 
officer to another. 
"Yes, sir, I am/" 
said the colonel ; 
" and if you were 
as afraid as I am 
you would run 
away." This is 
what we call moral 
courage — -that is, it 
is courage that can 
endure the stresses 
placed on it by the 
imagination which recognizes every possibility 
of disaster. Such incalculable elements, neces- 
sary for the true estimation of any particular 
action^ render it impossible to award the crown 
for valour with any certainty. It is good to" 
think where one is rewarded a thousand or 
ten thousand deserve reward as much or even 

The very impossibility of ideal justice in 
these matters shows us that all mankind, or 
at least the greater part of it, contain within 
them the power of response we call valour, 
These arc the things that make a man. Such 
qualities represent the effluent energy of nature 
which has created and preserves mankind* 
We do not know our greatest* Perhaps we may 
have even condemned them. If 1 knew of any 
man who, for the sake of his fellows, had run 
the risk of being called a coward and died without 
any chance of explanation as lie did what he 
knew to be his duty, I should say he was the 
bravest man of whom I had ever heard* Such 
things arc possible, In battle someone of swift 
mind and courage might know that the only 
chance of help lay in leaving the fighting line 
without explaining the reason. If he were 
Mlled as he ran he might be thought the merest 
coward. So a man might lose all honour in 
doing the most honourable deed possible 
and, dying, might have no consolation under 
scornful eyes but the inward consciousness of 
his vain intention. Such a man should 
stand immeasurably above those who have 
wrought historic deeds knowing, as they 
wrought them, that they were certain, if 
not of applause, at least of an honourable 





There can be little surprise that the fine old 
Sea-dog Greenville made so sure an appeal 
to Tennyson and Stevenson. Poets both, there 
was here the true note of chivalry — the one 
against the many, the setting of bloody decks 
and torn banners and that music of St. George 
for " Merry England " which go to make the 
picture. Nevertheless, there must be many of us 
who are thinking the&e days that finer things 
have been done and that Armageddon has 
witnessed them. 

Let us ask ourselves, to begin with, what is 
the point of view ? Are we looking upon the 
deliberate intent of the deed, its effect upon the 
human destinies, and the measure of its risk — ■ 
or merely consulting its dramatic aspect, its 
noise, its fury, and its appeal to the gr-ilery ? 
In the former case, the Philistine may argue 
that after all Greenville may have thought 
that British ships would come to his rescue, 
that luck might get him through the Spanish 
lines, and that, all said and done, there was 
just a chance of the big thing. It was not certain 
that failure implied death, and if he were taken 
prisoner the Spaniards, after all, might not prove 
such dirty dogs. 

■This is no depreciation of a mighty gallant 
fellow — it is a cold statement of fact. ' When an 
infatuated inventor took a flying machine up 
in a balloon in the 'seventies, and threw himself 
out somewhere above the Albert Hall, he knew 
perfectly well that any failure of the machinery 
meant instant death. But if he succeeded 
the whole fate of the world might be changed. 
I saw him go up as I stood by the side of the 
Round Pond waiting to catch a small boat that 
had become waterlogged, and 1 can remember 
now the lightning-like speed at which he lell 
through the air, and how the balloon went 
soaring away as though laughing at his folly. 
He was killed, instantly, and the world had to 
wait for the Wrights before it could begin to 
talk seriously to the birds. Yet this man was 
either mad or one of the bravest fellows that 
ever lived. For him there was none of those 
clever gradations by which the Wrights climbed 
the celestial ladder. He took his courage in 
both hands and he died. 

But our poets, of course, will have nothing to 
do with this kind of thing. They are properly 
dramatists, and their scenes need the limelight. 
A Bayard with his back to the wall is a greater 
fellow to know than a Christopher Columbus 
on the deck of a ship, yet who will deny that 
the valour of old Christopher has hardly been 
matched through the centuries ? All the world 
was against him, and all the world believed 
that this little globe of ours was flat. He was 
about to sail over the confines of the known 
earth into that pit of the fables where dwelt 
the eaters of men. Fire and worse than fire 
awaited him at his journey's end. He had 
dared to look beyond the horizon of man's 
destiny and the gates of hell were open for him. 

Yet, as we know, he never faltered. His courage 
was unshaken, he stood erect while others 
grovelled with fear — he dared the unknown for 
many days, and gave thanks to God at last 
upon the shores of his destiny. Surely a greater 
thing for mankind than the fate of the old sea- 
dog and his ship. A different kind of courage 
and a greater. _ 

Here is something which truly affected the 
destinies of mankind— an issue in which the 
thought of death had no place. 4 Some day, 
perchance, the world will say the same of the 
first winter of the war, when British soldiers 
often stood up to their waists in water that the 
Germans might not get to Calais. . Consider the 
patient heroism of that and all that it is even- 
tually to mean to the British people. Day by 
day the heroes who are nameless, upon whom 
no limelight beats, who have no Tennyson to 
sing about them, go down into the muddy pools 
and suffer all that human misery can inflict 
upon them. They do so knowing well that their 
self-sacrifice must in any case cut them off for 
ever from the common things of life ; that very 
possibly they will be cripples until the end of 
their days ; that they are offering their splendid 
physique upon the altar of the nation's needs. 
All this is nothing to them. Let the Germans 
get Dunkirk and Calais and the war may be 
lost. And so they " stick it " to the end, shut 
their teeth and defy the Hun — even make jests 
which become historic. And the battles of 
Ypres are won and with them — who knows ?— 
the battle of civilization also. 

The reflection leads me personally to the belief 
that Armageddon itself must ultimately be. re- 
sponsible for ten thousand deeds of valour which 
shall put old sea-dog Greenville into the shade. 
Consider the air service alone and what men do 
there. A boy is told at a base camp to give 
an elderly brigadier a " good time aloft," meaning 
that he is to treat him with the consideration 
a father would show to a son, to take him for 
a little turn up and down and to deposit him 
finally in the nest with the care a hen would 
show to a chicken. The boy goes up a thousand 
feet, loops the loop, remembers that he has not 
done his altitude test, rises some twelve thousand 
feet, loops the loop all the way down, and brings 
home his brigadier in a state of unconsciousness 
which sent him to the hospital for nearly a week. 
The lad was " frightfully sorry, don't you know/' 
but to him looping the loop was no more than 
taking a simple fence would be to an old horse* 
man. He would never stop to dwell upon the 
amazing and almost incomprehensible valour 
of the man who first dared that stupendous 
deed and faced death alone, five thousand 
feet up in the air, that he might teach his fellows 
what the aeroplane could do and establish a 
precedent which has saved a thousand lixes 
since Armageddon began. Verily must Pegcrc" 
have been one of the bravest men the world 
has ever known, and it is not a little curious 




that in all the records of valour we find him so 
rarely mentioned* He sought out death with 
cool deliberation and defied it. He might well 
have believed that the chances were a hundred 
to one against him, and certainly he could 
have had no sure knowledge beforehand of an 
aeroplane's behaviour when it was upside down. 
In all these things we must distinguish between 
the valour which is, so to speak, thrust upon a 
man and that which he initiates. Take tlje six 
officers of the Northumberland Fusiliers who 




stood back to back, their pistols in their hands, 
and died to the last man on the dunes by 
NieuporL They, I presume, could have cried 
" Kamerad," and gone to a German prison to 
languish until the war's end. They preferred 
the traditions of their regiment and a glorious 
<ieath. Yet six men might have found them- 
selves in a position where they must go on to 
certain death or be branded for ever with the 
brand of cowardice, Witness the assault upon 
the citadel of Badajoz in the days of the Penin- 

sular War — so little a thing seemingly nowaday 
that we stand aghast at the volumes it provoked. 
Yet Badajoz was one of the finest things in 
history, and nothing more terrible has been known 
in the story of war than that episode of the 
storming of the great redoubt when our men 
pOed up the corpses of their fellows that they 
might climb to the bastions above and there 
grapple with an enemy which decimated them 
in security. The darkness, the cries, the stiffen- 
ing figures of the dead, the flame of the burning 
city -* is there a picture of 
terror to beat it ? a deed 
of valour richer in all the 
qualities of human courage ? 

History is full of these 
things ; but in the end we 
may be sure that Armageddon 
wiJl better them. Every day, 
on land, on sea, in the air 
— even in the 
waters below 
the earth — things 
are being done 
w r hich old Green- 
ville could not 
have beaten* 
Here a solitary 
aeroplane waging 
a lone war with 
ten of the enemy 
— there a patrol 
battling with 
tremendous seas 
that she may 
answer ah S.O.S. 
—merchant sea- 
men looking 
death in the eyes 
and smiling — mere boys fresh from school, 
going over and leaping into the black pits 
where the Hun machine-gun is waiting — fire 
and flame and the gas which blinds and 
the torture of the doubt and the eternal 
question ! No t indeed, the old sea-dogs knew 
nothing of all this nor did their poets antici- 
pate it. 

So we say " God rest their souls," and await 
the singer who will tell us truly of the more 
terrible days. 


In the midst of this world -cataclysm, when 
every day men are showing themselves heroes 
with the title that will figure in the records of 
our history for all time, it would seem almost 
irreverent to look elsewhere for an answer to the 
question — what is the bravest deed in history ? 

To fight for an ideal England took up the 
challenge of Germany in August, 1014, unpre- 
pared for war and with nothing to gain from the 
struggle. Yet the stir and wonder of events is 
too strongly with us now for an impartial survey 
of recent happenings, and the historian of the 

Vol. k.^-9. 

future must deal with them when his judgment 
has been sobered by the passage of time. 

In the midst of war, let us not forget that 
" peace hath her victories no less renowned," 
and the type of deed that fulfils most nearly 
the highest ideal of true bravery was the death 
of Sir Thomas More at the hands oi Henry YIIJ. 
The highest species of bravery is not that winch 
we share with the lower animals ; they are 
capable of fighting valiantly in self-defence, 
or to obtain their food, and their bravery even 
reaches the quaJ&ibyinDll tt^Oterestedness when 




their offspring are in danger; but man alone 
can fight, not to further his material ends, but 
in the lofty pursuit of an ideal, of what is to 
the average individual the shadow of a phantom. 
In the thick of the contest, when the blood is 
up, when companions all around stir one on, 
when the reward of even cowardice is perhaps 
death, when death is imminent whatever we 
do, then to die honourably is splendid indeed, 
) ut smvly not the height of heroism. As 
against this, set the case of a man like Sir Thomas 
More, whose choice lay between the continuance 
of a dazzling career of fame and honour t and 
the darkness of a death voluntarily undertaken 
for what the cynic must regard as the whim 
of an over- scrupulous conscience, Shake- 
speare's Hamlet declares that 4i conscience 
doth make cowards of us all," For Sir Thomas 
More, the condition s 
were the opposite of 
those in which Hamlet 
found himself* In his case 
it was conscience that 
drove him to a supreme 
act of bravery, where 
every other inducement 
was working in favour 
of the broad and easy 
road, He .refused to 
affirm the title of Henry 
VIII. as supreme Head 
of the Church, and, by 
a statute passed in 1534, 
such refusal was inter- 
preted as treason. The 
Monarchy had triumphed 
over the whole held, but 
its power was brought 
to an abrupt halt when 
face to face with the 
unyielding conscience of a 
single man. 

Sir Thomas More was 
the leading Englishman of 
his day ; he had tasted 
the sweets of office and 
he had abandoned them 
without a murmur when 

Henry's policy of divorce from Catherine ended 
in an open rupture with Rome. The Act of 
Succession in 1534 ordered an oath to be taken 
by all persons to recognize the succession then 
arranged, and this involved an acknowledgment 
that Henry's marriage with Catherine was con- 
trary to Scripture and invalid from the start, 
Henry, in summoning More to take this oath, 
knowing as he did Mo re's belief t was pronouncing 
the sentence of death, or rather he was putting 
his victim to the severest test which can befall 
any man— of whether his convictions w T ould 
survive the certainty of death itself. " I thank 
the Lord," were M ore's words, when the sum- 
mons reached him—" I thank the Lord that the 
field is won." 

He was given plenty of time to reconsider 
his refusal, and the utmost efforts of ingenuity 
and interpretation and of earnest solicitation 

Digitized by G* 


of nr:i;i> that fulfils most kearly the 


were brought forward to induce him to yield, 
but he was weighed in the balance and not 
fttund wanting. At the last moment he was 
careful to remove his beard from the path of 
the axe, saying, " Pity that should be cut that 
has never committed treason " ; but the story 
is well known and need not be elaborated here. 
It is on the significance of it that we would 
dwell. The heroism of Sir Thomas More is 
the type to which not individuals only, but 
nations, must conform if they are to obtain 
true greatness. Such an act derives its out- 
standing quality upon two characteristics — 
it is entirely disinterested and it is undertaken 
in cold blood, with none of the heat and strife 
and passion to reinforce it that spurs the tigress 
to avenge her cubs. With every material 
inducement pointing to the choice of life, with 
long hours for sober reflec- 
tion on the alternatives 
presented, the idealist 
yet consents to fling 
away everything save 
the treasured and intan- 
gible figment of his 
spirit's creation, and to 
face the bourne from 
which no traveller re- 
turns. Add to this that 
Sir Thomas More was no 
mere fanatic, but a m,an 
of broad and tolerant 
views^ and possessed 
withal of a sense of 
humour that might well 
have turned the scales 
the other way, and we 
can realize the sublimity 
of his act. 

England is fighting to- 
day for ideals, as against 
the materialistic ambi- 
tions of Germany, "That 
is why, when the mani- 
fold achievements of 
individuals in this war 
are forgotten, the actual 
decision of the whole 
nation to throw aside ease, prosperity, and 
repose to fight totally unprepared, for an 
ideal, will always be remembered in history 
as a supreme act of heroism and dishv 

In like spirit, Sir Thomas More valiantly 
recorded his protest against tyranny by the only 
act which could effectually further his cauH*. 
It is not the act alone which constitutes bravery, 
but the motive behind the act and the spirit 
in which it is carried out. 

It is the martyr for conscience* sake who 
furnishes the best example of that courage 
which is so much higher than that which springs 
from recklessness or self-confidence. 

Sir Thomas More is the greatest* though not 
the sole representative, of this type in our history, 
and it is under his banner that England and 
her Allies are fighting to-day. 

Original from 




Illustrated by Arthur Garrett, 


ROB ABLY no member of the 
Problem Club " enjoyed his 
evening of chairmanship more 
than Mr. Quillian, K.C, who 
occupied the chair at the 
forty-fifth meeting. He liked 
the position of authority, and 

he liked the opportunity to exercise the nicety 

and precision of his legal mind. In the Free 

Meal Problem, on which he was to adjudicate, 

the ingenious head-waiter 

Leonard had made the a 

following demand : — 
41 It is required within 

the space of twenty-four 

consecutive hours to be 

the guest of one person 

at breakfast, of another 

at luncheon , and of a 

third at dinner, the host 

being in each case a 

person whom the com- 
petitor has not to his 

knowledge seen, and with 

whom he Jias held no 

communication, previous 

to the sunrise preceding 

the meal. No direct re- 

quest for a mea! may be 

made, and no remunera- 
tion may be given in 

return for any meal." 

■ "Now, gentlemen/' 

said Mr, Quillian, when 

he had read this out, 

" this is a problem where 

the question of definition 

may arise. For instance, 

a child in a railway 

carriage offers a traveller 

a small piece of deterio- 
rated bun. We will 

suppose that the hour is 
eight in the morning and 
that the traveller has not 

partaken of food since the previous midnight. 
In the improbable event of his consuming the 
— er — proffered dainty, he lias undoubtedly 
broken his fast. But can he l>e said to have 
breakfasted ? All I can say is tliat if the 
question of definition should arise to-night I 
will do my best to deal with it on common- 
sense lines, accurately but without pedantry/' 
The chairman then called upon Mr, Wilder**- 
ley, A.R.A., to give his experiences, 

Wildersley was a 
man of middle age 
who, like many 
artists, retained 
something of the 
child in his compo- 
sition* He was a 
big, good-tempered 
man ol rather 
rugged appearance. 




, ,,„, b y toy p>4jniyERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



The cigars provided by the club, good though 
they were, had no attraction for him. He 
was a pipe-smoker, and between his sentences 
he contrived to keep his pipe alight. 

" Well," he said, " I mayn't be a winner, * 
but I can't be far out. I'll tell you how I set 
about it. You may have noticed that chaps 
in the country with little places — three or 
four acres — are often very keen about them. 
In fact, the smaller the place the keener they 
are. My frame-maker, who lives near ^Harrow, 
used to spend most of his Sunday afternoon 
sitting behind a curtain with the window open, 
listening to whit passers-by had to say about 
the godetias in his front garden. His daughter 
sometimes sits for me, and she told me that 
if the compliments on the garden came in 
nicely it put him in such a good temper that 
he used to let the family off church in the 
evening. I decided to work on the pride that 
the owner or tenant has in his place. I went 
down to the outer suburban belt — the part 
that they call the real country — and put up 
at an hotel. Then bright and early one 
morning I started out with my painting 
contraptions. I very soon spotted a place 
that I knew must be picturesque, because it 
had got some clipped yews and a sun-dial ; 
besides, as the gate informed me, it was 
called the Dream House, and that proved it. 
So in I went, pitched my easel half-way up the 
drive, and got to work. An old gardener 
came up and asked me if I knew that I was 
trespassing. So I gave him a shilling, my 
card, and my apologies. I told him to keep 
the shilling and to deliver the card and 
apologies to his master as soon as that gentle- 
man got down. That seemed to meet the 
case. In half an hour I had knocked off 
something showy, and then down the drive 
towards me came the owner, all smiles and 
Norfolk jacket, with a Cocker spaniel trailing 
behind ham. I gave him the sketch, and he 
was as pleased as Punch about it t He took 
me round the garden to point out other 
picturesque spots, and then brought me into 
the house to introduce me to his family. Nice 
people, very. Almost before I knew it I was 
breakfasting with them, and being hungry I 
was pleased to find that they took breakfast 
seriously. They'd have kept me there all 
day if I could have stopped, but the business 
of this problem required me to move on., 

li At half-past twelve I played the same 
trick again six miles up the road. Once more 
it worked perfectly. My hostess was an old 
lady of the almost extinct type that knows 
how to live. Everything about the place was 
just exactly. The luncheon was just exactly. 

Digitized by LiOOQ IC 

And she gave me a very fine old Amontillado — 
a wine that we don't see enough of nowadays. 
I can't say whether it was the sherry or the 
success, but when I left I felt that I had got 
the club's cheque for one hundred and ten 
pounds in my pocket and was listening to the 
chairman's kindly words of congratulation. 
-My mistake, of course. Begin well, but not 
too well. If you begin too well, mistrust it. 

" About seven that evening I was painting 
a garden which was really rather good in that 
light, fl'd sent in my card and got per- 
mission.) As I was finishing the job and rather 
wrapped up in it I heard a Scotch accent 
behind me, spying that the sketch was 'no 
bad ' and ' verra like.' He and I discussed 
the comparative merits of painting and pho- 
tography. For accuracy he ' prefaired the 
photograph, but then it didna give the 
.colours.' As before, I presented the sketch, 
and I still think that he was pleased with it. 
He asked me to sign it, so as to prove to his 
friends that he ' wasna lying * when he said 
that it was by a professed painter, and ad- 
mitted that he would not grudge the money 
it would cost for framing and glazing. He 
then said he made no doubt I would be hurry- 
ing home for my dinner, and he would wish 
me good evening. And so, in a manner of 
speaking, I fell at the last hurdle. Still, I 
suppose I score the breakfast and luncheon." 

The Hon. James Feldane addressed the 
chairman : — 

" I'd like your ruling on that point, sir. 
And it's quite impartial, because I am not 
competing myself this time." 

" Not competing ? " said the chairman. 
" Might I ask what stopped you ? Hitherto 
you have been one of the keenest and most 
sporting of our members, in spite of your air 
of — er — lassitude." 

" What stopped me," said Jimmy, simply, 
" was breakfast. Breakfast is bad enough at 
any time, especially if you've been rather late 
and busy the night before. But to breakfast 
with an absolute stranger on chance food, and 
to go out and dig for the invitation first — 
well, it was unthinkable. I'm sorry to spoil 
old Wildersley's score, and if he'd bunged me 
one of his sketches instead of chucking them 
about the suburbs I might have been able to 
stifle the voice of conscience. As it is I feel 
bound to raise the objection that he gave 
remuneration for the breakfast and luncheon — 
to wit, two sketches." 

" The gift of the sketches was precedent to 
the meals and was unconditional, as we see 
by the fact that the third sketch produced 
no meal. The sketches were a lure, and the 






use of a lure is 
not prohibited. 
They were not 
given in return 
for a meal, I 
should not even 
say that the 
meals were re- 
muneration for 
the sketches ; they were merely an expression 
of gratitude, Mr. Feidane's objection is dis- 

That habitual non-starter Mr. Harding Pope, 
M.P., was now asked if he had made his choice 
between competition or resignation. 

" I have competed, of course. But I have 
only the most dismal of failures to record* 
I was down at my constituency, and I picked 
out three new residents on whom I had a 
plausi ble excu se for calling. I 'phoned the first 
to ask if he could see me at nine, apologizing 
for the earliness of the hour. He said that 
the time suited him very well, and that, as a 
matter of fact, he always breakfasted at seven, 
so as to begin work early. The man whom I 
called on at lunch-time could only give me 
ten minutes, he said, as he was lunching out. 
The third did ask me to dinner, but not on 
that day. And probably all three have put 
me down as a man who calls at tactless and 
inconvenient times. I can only say that I 
am ready to suffer far worse things for the 
privilege of retaining my membership," 

Sir Charles Bunford had perhaps shown 
rather more strategy, but had only one degree 
less of failure to report. He had obtained 
letters of introduction to three noted food- 
cranks, all of them ardent proselytizers. To 
the first he represented himself as suffen 

s sufi 

from a list of symptoms. Sir 
Charles had memorized them 
carefully from the advertise- 
ment of a patent pilh He 
said that he was sorry to 
call at so early an hour, but 
after a night of suffering 
he had determined that he 
would begin on a new system 
of diet at once, 

" For instance," he said, 
* h what ought I to have for 
breakfast this morning ? 
What do vou have your- 
self ? " 

The food- crank said that 

he would not only tell him ; 

--he would ask him to share 

his simple but healthful fare. 

At this point in Ms narra* 

tive the chairman interposed, 

" This is a ease where the 

question of definition may 

arise, I must ask you to 

tell us, Sir Charles, what the 

food -crank gave you for 


"It was not so much 
breakfast as a premature 
dessert with a hospital favour to it. It con- 
sisted of uncooked fruit and lessons in the 
difficult art of mastication. With that we drank 
a special sort of coffee, from which all dele- 
terious matter, including the taste of coffee, 
had been entirely removed. But the question 
of definition need not w T orry you, as I can't 
claim to have won* The second food-crank, 
whom I visited at lunch-time, told me that 
his chief secret was never to eat in the middle 
of the day. The third, whom I tackled in the 
evening, was so ascetic in his conversation 
and so extremely anxious to keep me out of 
his dining-room, that I formed a suspicion, 
perhaps unworthy, that the man's practice 
differed somewhat from his preaching. So 
Fve failed, but it was quite an amusing 

That great epicure, Mr. Matthews, had not 
competed, and gave his reasons with a 
solemnity that contrasted with his usual 

" Thtfnk heaven," he said, M I have a 
sophisticated appetite ! Thank heaven again 
I have an over-educated palate ! Starvation 
for twenty- four hours I might have possibly 
faced. But the horrors of casual hospitality 
were more than I could risk." 

*' Ah, well," said the chairman, " I must 
turn to Mr. Pusdy Snyiht, who is acting as 




secretary for us to-night, I presume he has 
added one more to his list of triumphs." 

** The pangs of failure/ 1 said that saturnine 
gentleman, u are increased by the jeers of the 
learned chairman, I ought to have won, I 
claim to have won. But I confess that it will 
not surprise me if I am reduced to an equality 
with my artist friend. I shall have a melan- 
choly pleasure in sharing the prize with him. 
He tried to work upon gratitude, and so did 
I. The particular brand of gratitude that I 
decided to exploit for my purpose was the 
gratitude that a woman feels for the return 
of her lost pet dog. It seems to vary inversely 
as the value of the dog 3 but it is always great. 



i( You will perhaps remember that ahout a 
year ago Leonard set us a peculiarly sinful 
problem, which he styled the Substitution 
Problem , and that in the complicated and 
unjustifiable operations by which I succeeded 
in winning the prize I made the acquaintance 
of James Tigg, and did liim a good turn. Now 

Jumes, known to his intimate friends as 
i Kidney/ is by profession a French polisher, 
but does not practise, and his favourite 
occupation is the appropriation of dogs, his 
gifts in that direction amounting almost to 

4t I sent for James, ' I told him that I 
thought it likely that three ladies, living in 
different suburbs, would lose their pet dogs 
and that i should know where to find them, 
and should be enabled by the address on the 
dr>g-collar to return each of the little darlings 
to its owner. At the same time I put five 
golden sovereigns on the table, 

li ' Likely ? * said James, * It's a ruddy 

certainty/ He 
then picked up 
the coins in an 
way and i n- 
structed me as to 

"Two days 
later, at an early 
hour in the morn- 
ing, I called on 
Lady Pingle at 
her house at 
Epsom with her 
ladyship's alleged 
Pekingese under 
my arm. I told 
her how I had 
found the poor 
little thing 
wandering on 
Wimbledon Com- 
mon late the 
night before, almost in a state of collapse, 
had given it food and shelter, and had taken 
the earliest opportunity to relieve her anxiety 
by its return. 

"Her gratitude was almost frantic. She 
kissed the dog ardently, and at one moment 
I was almost afraid she was going to kiss me 
too, She did not do tliat, but she did insist 
on my breakfasting with her, and I accepted. 
And let me tell that over-educated sybarite 
Matthews , with his sneers at casual hospitality, 
that he himself never breakfasted better, 

" I lunched with Mrs. Hastonbury at her 
residence at Leathcrhead, In this way she 
showed her gratitude for the return of * Bimby ' 
—a chocolate-coloured Pom with a short 
temper. But I must confess that she was 
not nearly as quick off the mark as Lady 
Pingk, I had to inquire about hotels in the 
neighbourhood before she saw which way her 
duty layiriginal from 








And 1 


"The third dog 
that I had to deliver, 
a mouldy little pug, 
belonged to the wife 
of a curate living 
much nearer home. 
She was grateful and 
she was hospitable. 
She said that they 
never dined but that 
they were just sitting 
down to high tea, and 
she hoped I would 
jo n them. It was an 
evening meal sul.v 
stituted for dinner, 
and I contend that I 
am entitled to count 
it as dinner." 

" Kindly tell its 
what you had/* sakj 
the chairman* 

" What ? The in- 
ternal evidence? 
Certainly. I had 
cocoa, scrambled eggs, and seed-cake, 
hope you will take a lenient view of it/ 1 

" Your hostess herself maintained that 
was not dinner, and the internal evidence, as 
you call it, entirely supports her view. Your 
career of crime will only give you a score of 
two. The high tea is disallowed. I will now 
call upon Major Bytes." 

11 TTie sacrifice that I made to luck on the 
occasion of our last competition,'* said Major 
Byles, M has brought me success at last. I 
claim to be a winner, and await your decision 
with confidence. It happened that two of my 
friends both wanted a furnished house at 
Brightgate for the winter, and did not want 
the bother of going down to make their selec^ 
tion. I saw my chance at once. I might 
never have thought of it, but I didn't miss it 
when it was shoved at me/ I said at once 
that I was thinking of running down to 
Brightgate for a day or two, and that it 
always interested me to look over houses. 
They told me their requirements and let me 
take on the job for them. 

* The house-agent at Brightgate had only 
six houses on his books that were at all suit- 
able. He gave me orders to view, and I 
started business at eight one morning. I 
started badly. 

" At the first house a proud but pretty 
parlour- maid told me that it was not usual 
to show furnished houses at that hour, but I 
could call again at eleven. At the second 
house there was onlv a caretaker. That left 


me with, so to speak, four cartridges and 
three birds to kill. I hurried on to the third 
house, which was half a mile away. By a 
bit of luck I met the owner on the doorstep, 
and told him my alleged business, 

ft * You're very early/ he said. * Why, we 
haven't had breakfast yet/ 

'* c No more have 1/ I said. * But last year 
I lost a good house through being too late, 
and I thought I wouldn't make the same 
mistake again/ 

u He was a genial old chap. He said the 
best thing I could do was to come in and 
breakfast with him, ajui by the time I had 
finished the servants would have got the bed- 
rooms tidied up, I did my best to accept 
with decent hesitation. 

w At lunch-time I tried the fourth house 
on my list and struck another caretaker. I 
couldn't afford another miss, I got lunch at 
the fifth ho use j but I had to be nd end com- 
plimentary before I could get them up to 
the point. In fact, it wasn't till I told the 
woman that her pirn ply- faced son was a fine 
upstanding young fellow that she decided to 
order the extra chop. 

,( But at the sixth house I had no trouble 
about dinner. The owner turned out to be a 
friend of a friend of mine. He fetched up a 
bottle of the '87 in my honour and insisted 
on my stopping the night. 

" They were all pukka meals, and all the 
conditions were observed. Am I a winner, 
Mr, Chairman .iPtfj gin a I from 




11 Certainly. Does anybody else claim to 
be a winner ? " 

'*' I do," said Dr. Alden. " The day before 
yesterday a doctor.rang me up and asked me 
to see a patient of his — a woman with a 
wealthy, devoted, and very nervous husband. 
That was at eight in the morning. My car 
happened to be at the door, and it suited me 
to go right away. I saw the patient, was 
able to reassure the husband, and had bfeak- 
fast with him. Later in the morning a man 
was introduced to me who was interested in 
old glass and had heard of me as a collector. 
He was very keen that I should lunch with 
him and see what he had got. He was a 
pleasant chap and I accepted. When I got 
back, a doctor, quite an old pal of mine, said 
that he was going to take me to dine that 
night with a man I had never seen before. 
It seemed that the stranger had staying with 
him for one night a French specialist in my 
own line.* llie Frenchman was anxious to 
meet me/an<J his host was anxious to please 
him. So he had tried to arrange it through 
a mutual friend. I was myself keen to meet 
that Frenchman, and so he succeeded. 

" Of course, I didn't arrange all this — 

couldn't have arranged it. As a matter of 
fact, I had never intended to compete this 
time. But destiny decided to take a hand 
in this competition. I claim to be a winner." 

" An interesting point," said the chairman. 
" Can a man be said to win who has never 
competed ? I shall decide in Dr. Alden's 
favour. Leonard says nothing of intention. 
He only demands certain facts. And these 
facts the Doctor by an amazing stroke of luck 
has been able to provide. The prize of one 
hundred and ten pounds will be divided 
equally between him and Major Byles, unless 
there is any further claim." 

No further claim was forthcoming. The 
chairman then announced that Mr, Matthews 
would preside at the next meeting, and read 
out the problem set for the following month, 
called *' The Win-and-Lose Problem," and 
there was a general feeling that it would take 
some doing. 

The problem is as follows : It is required to 
win an even bet of one pound, resulting in a 
net loss of one pound to the winner ; and to 
lose an even bet of one pound, resulting in a 
net gain of one. pound to the loser. No 
competitor is to make more than two bets. 



Rxcurexno every month, the time is found 
When shines the Quoen of Heaven fair and round. 

1. Found betwixt lull and five in famous song, 
Six feet should be just right, not short nor long. 

2. Reverse, unravel, ruin, bring to nought — 
A negative, with later note, is Bought. 

3. The name of many popes ; look now on high, 
And see the constellation in the sky. 

4. What comes from whole the part put off should be, 
Before it is put on by you or me. 



One simple, one obscure, both often read, 
Both also easy to be parodied); 

1. Here lived of old a sage philosopher. 

2. From this came meat, unless I greatly err. 

3. Pius the Ninth, in the Italian tongue. 

4. Its praises by opportunists are sung. 

5. By poets something distant thus is told. 

6. Peninsula well known in days of old. 

7. E'en to Canute no homage thia allow*. 

8. The occupation of a grumbling spouse. 


Answers to Acrostic* 40 and 41 should be addressed to 
the Acrostic Editor, The Strand Magazine, Southampton 
Street, Strand, London, W.0.2, and must arrive not later 
, by the first post on February 8th. 

Digitized by VjUUgl^ 

The answer to each acrostic must be on a separate piece 
of paper, and each must be signed with the solver's pseudonym. 
Two answers may be sent to any or every light* 

Answer to No. 39. 

1. C heatin Q 

2. H ou R • 

3. R it E 

4. I dl E 

5. S tou T 

6. T ut« I 

7. M elo N 

8. A go G 

9. 8 cale S 

Notes.— Light 4. In Yorkshire. 5. French, tout f all. 
7. Lemon, 8. Magog and Gog. 

Result of tLe Sixtk Scries. 

The maximum number of points obtainable during the 
series was 42, and one solver, Junius, succeeded in gaining 
them ; he wins the first prize, and will receive a cheque 
for three guineas. One point was missed by H. H., Isa, 
Onieleg, Sant, Wals, and Yoko, and each of these six 
solvers will receive a cheque for a guinea and a half. All 
these seven winners will be ineligible for a further prize, in 
the seventh series now running. 

The names and addresses of the successful solvers are : 
Junius, Mr. F. C. W. Grigson, Avlsham, Norfolk ; H. H., 
Mr. E. W. M. Llovd, Hartford House, Hartley Wintney, 
Hants ; Isa, Miss Nicholls, 23, Campden Hill Court, W. ; 
Omeleg, Mr. G. L. Moore, 68, Rosebery Road, Muswell 
Hill, N.10; Sant, Mr. W. H. Harsant, Tower House, 
Clifton Down Road, Clifton, Bristol; Wals, Mr. W. 
Stradling, Norris Hill, East (.owes, I.W. ; Yoko, Mr. F. 
Rawson, 10, Richmond >i unions, S.W. 





Adrian Mar^aux, 

irreverence for things as 
they are which is really one 
of his strongest points." 

Like Phil May, Max Beer- 
bohrn has had little or no 
training in the use of his 
pencil. As he frankly tells 
you, apart from a few 

\¥ has been said of 
Max Beerbohm 
that for him man 
exists only to be 
caricatured. The 
hon pyfctfj perhaps, 
Jncs less than 
justice to those occasional ex- 
cursions into the realms of 
literature wherein he lias shown 
himself such a true observer of 
certain phases of the human 
comedy. But us a tribute to the 
pre-eminent position to which 
Max Beerbohm has attained 
among living caricaturists it may 
be accepted at its face value. 

To art, for art s sake. Max 
Beerbohm would certainly make 
no claim, So long as he " gets 
there " in his satiric presentment 
of a personality he cares not 
what artistic conventions or rules 
he violates in the process* The 
very appreciative critic, just 
quoted, Mr, L, Raven- Hill, pro- 
ceeds to point out that "he 
can't draw/' and to argue that if 
he could he would probably be 
cramped and lose that 4 * delightful 





lessons in freehand at Charterhouse School } he 
has found out for himself everything which 
has made the pencil such a powerful weapon 
in his hands. At Charterhouse, however, 
where lie w T as a pupil from 1885 to 1890. his 
instinct for pictorial satire early found sue- 
cessful expression. In the pages of the 
school magazine will be found about half-a- 
dozen drawings, signed " H.M.B./ 1 which 

essay on " Going Back To School." '* I was 
a modesty good-humoured boy. It is Oxford 
that has made me insufferable*" But it is 
evident that the sports at Charterhouse little 
appealed to him. * c As I hovered/' he says 
in the same essay, " in grey knickerbockers 
on a cold and muddy field, round the outskirts 
of a crowd that was tearing itself limb from 
Hmb for the sake of a leathern bladder, I 




b — , — l tiui 

9 to 11 12 


1— Walter Sicken. 2— Charles Caftder. j— A. E. John. 4 -TX 5. MacCotl. 5— H. Tonks. 6— Roger Fry, 7— T 
fi— Wrtlier RttiielL 9— W- Orpen. 10— V W. Steer. 11— Will Rothen=>teiai. 12— Albert Rut brriton. 

A ELini>i:s. 

stand for Herbert Maximilian lleerhohm. 
All these drawings give evidence of well-used 
(rifts of observation and humour, but cannot 
be said to suggest the demoniacal cleverness 
which he was afterwards to develop. 

I cannot ascertain that these contributions 
to the Grey friar created anything like a 
sensation among his schoolfellows. In fact, 
it would appear that he achieved more celeb- 
rity by his Latin verses , at w r hich he was 
regarded as an adept. (t I was not unpopular 
there/ 1 writes Max Reerbohm himself in his 

could often wish for a nice warm room and a 
good game of Hunt-the-Slipper." 

From Charterhouse, Max Beerbohm pro- 
ceeded to Merton College, Oxford. He 
given us a picture of his life there in the no 
11 Zuleika Dobson." His principal recreati 
appears to Imve been caricaturing the Do 
some of his efforts appearing in the un< 
graduates' journal, the Clown, It was wh, 
still at Oxford that he started contribute 
caricatures to the London Press } his i 
subject, which was; headed u Lines Sugges 




by Cissie Loftus," appearing in the Sketch 
for May g, 1894. Several caricatures in the 
Pall Mall Budget and The Strand Magazine 
were followed in the autumn of 1894 by a 
series in Pick-Me-Up, The series was en- 
titled iC Personal Remarks/* and included 
among its subjects Oscar Wilde, R. G. Knowles, 
Harry Furniss, and Gus Elcn, 

Mr. Beerbohm left Oxford in July, 1895, 
about a month before his twenty-third 
birthday, and in the course of the next few 
years became famous not only by his periodical 
exhibitions of caricatures in West-end art 
galleries, but also by his literary contributions 
to such fin- de-si ede periodicals as the Yellow 
Book, the Pageant, the Chap Book, and the 
Savoy, In 1896 was published his first volume 
of drawings j " Caricatures of Twenty-Five 
Gentlemen/* This was followed in 1900 by 
"The Second Childhood of John Bull/' 


Digitized by G* 

making fun of the national short comings 
revealed in the conduct of the South African 
War; and, subsequently, by "The Poets* 
Corner/' having the most eminent poets of 
the nineteenth century for its subject. In 
later years he has published further selections 
from his exhibited drawings under the titles 
of " The Book of Caricatures " and i( Fifty 
Caricatures/' having in the meantime adopted 
the shortened form of his second Christian 
name, Maximilian, for both his literary and 
pictorial work. 

On leaving Oxford Max Beerbohm took up 
his residence at a house in Hyde Park Place, 
which was once occupied by Kinglake, the 
historian, afterwards' migrating to Upper 
Berkeley Street. In recent years he has lived 
mostly in Italy, making his home at Rapallo, 
a place which last autumn obtained newspaper 
celebrity as the scene of an important con- 
ference between Mr, 
Lloyd George and 
the French and 
Italian political 
and military 
leaders. During 
the past year, Mr, 
Beerbohm has re- 
sided in the his- 
toric Well Walk, 
Hampstead, and it 
was in his sitting- 
room there that he 
gave me some par* 
ticulars of his work 
and its method, 

"No, I have 
never drawn from 
life/' he tells me; 
rt for one- thing I 
have, as you may 
suppose, seldom 
had an opportunity 
of doing so. A 
car icaturist cannot 
ask for ' sittings ' 
from his subject 
like a portrait- 
painter, I simply 
take a good look 
at a man and then 
trust my memory 
for the most salient 
features ; the rest 
is ignored. Nor 
can I make use of 
photographs as 
some humorous 

artists do. I believe. 
Original from 



urn, m VOTE EIGHT. 

r extraordinary psycfa ufagiu it 

! on . 

t n>03 are uinpt 

jtnti vulIiiii and a xrmd mem»r 
;isunBg the sobjet- 

hm exprc* 
-i^heti best in It, 

Ui 1 '* 



many others. But 
In a country of the 
blind the one-eyed 
man is king. Not 
that I regard my- 
self as a king in 
English caricature, 
but 3 in. comparison 
with some of the 
Italian caricatur- 
ists, I am certainly 
only a one-eyed 
man. There is 
plenty of good 



caricature in Germany, but in this, as in other 
things, the Germans are simply copyists — they 
copied from the French, who, in their turn, 
were much influenced by the Italians/' 

Digitized by GOOQ I C 


" How do you account for the scarcity of 
caricaturists in England ? M 

It is hard to say. The appreciation for 
my work goes to show that there is a demand, 
and the demand, it is said, creates the supply. 
But I do not myself believe in this saying any 
more than in tliat other saying that the 
occasion brings forth the man, It has cer- 
tainly not brought him forth in Russia, and 
the military genius which would have short- 
ened the Allies' struggle with Germany has 
not been forthcoming. 

li Of the caricaturists who have worked in 
England, I regard Pellegrini, who was, of 
course, an Italian, as by far the greatest* 
Rowlandson and Gillray were too brutal for 
present-day taste, but then they lived in a 
brutal age. Rowlandson I admire most in 
his serious work." 

Original from* 




During the war Max Beerbohm has given 
us no new work of topical interest* When I 
referred to tills fact, he said ; — 

u Yes, it is perfectly true I have done 
practically noticing during the war. I did 
not fed that I could. The subject of the war 
— and its personalities — has always seemed 
to me to be far too serious to be treated of in 
the comic spirit. Of course^ cartoons in the 
classical planner such as Bernard Partridge 

thing, it is necessary that soldiers on leave 
should be amused and that the 'spirits of the 
people should be kept up. But if I were a 
comedian in a revue I could not make fun of 
the war. At any rate, that's how I feel about 
it personally/' 

I asked Mr. Beerbohm whether he con- 
sidered the subjects selected for the illustration 
of this article were fairly representative of his 



has contributed to Punch are quite all right; " Ves ; I think so on the whole, except, 

but the classical manner is beyond my perhaps, of my earliest and immature period, 

powers, and so I have left things alone J 7 One of the subjects contains what I consider 

" But the comic spirit has not been banished to be the best caricature I have ever done of 

from the stage ? " myself — I am the man looking on at Bernard 

*' No 3 I suppose that is impossible— for one Shaw standing on his head," 

The drawings entitled i4 D tntbihtg of a Horrid Doubt as to the Divine Right M avd " Mr. Bernard 
Shaw il are reproduced from "Fifty Caricature*" by permission of Mr. William Heirtemann, 
whiie the remainder are frotn " A Kaok of Caricatures" by permission of Messrs. Methuen and Co* 


by Google 

Original from 

aThe Ace of Hearts 

Morteo, Roberts 


mm. i m 

Illustrated by 

MAY be the youngest and 
what you call a flapper/' said 
Billy Davenant, "but J'm 
better at arithmetic than any 
of you." 

" Don't brag, Wilhelmina/' 

said her cousin Kitty ( thereby 

nearly breaking up the council, 

held by Molly and Di Davenant in conjunction 

with their youngest sister and their cousin, to 

consider ^ most important question. 

" Don*t let's quarrel," said Molly, who was 
not only the oldest, but, by long chalks, the most 
charming, if This isn't a personal matter; it's 
of the highest national importance. All the 
papers are full of it. What are the figures, Billy ? " 
Billy replied from the floor, on which she sat 
cross-legged with a^ slate on her lap, 

IH I make out," she said, " that you've a 
hundred apiece, and I'm leaving myself out as 
I'm only sixteen, so that makes three hundred, 
and three hundred a year is just the same as if 
it were six thousand pounds/' 

,p Tosli ! How can three hundred a year be 
six thousand ? " asked Di. 

** You don't understand figures/' said the 
flapper, contemptuously ; "if you invest six 
thousand at five per cent., and the papers say 
that's easy now, you yet three hundred a year; 
so if you three didn't exist it would ne the same 
to dad as if he had six thousand more. Don't 
you see ? " 

" I see/* said Molly, " and I think it's awfully 
clever of you, Billy/' 

'* I don't see in the least/* said Di, " but if dad 
docs, that will do/' 

" Uncle never sees anything/' groaned Kitty, 
" or if lie does he says, "Yes, yes, my dear; run 
away, do, and let me get on with my book.' ' 

As she spoke Mr. Davenant came in with an 
open book in his hand. He was never without 
one, and those he carried in his splendid wliite 

Copyright, i$j:S> 

head were without number and in the finest 
order, while such as were connected with his over- 
charged and under-rented estate were in hopeless 

" Dear me, 1 thought you were all out this fine 
evening/' he said, as he surveyed them affection- 

" Dad/' said Molly, "do put that book down; 
we want to speak to you/' 

" rt's about finance," put in Billy. 

** I don't know anything about finance, unless 
it's Roman or Greek/' said Mr. Davenant, "so do 
be good girls ** 

M We are trying hard to be/* said Molly, "but 
we feel it's our duty to speak to you. And Billy, 
who's good at arithmetic and knows about three 
and four and five per cent., and can do financial 
accounts, says that if you were thoughtful and 
energetic you could save three hundred a year." 

" Yes/' said Billy, as Mr. Davenant's book 
dropped, on the floor, " and at five per cent, that 
is as good as six thousand pounds, and if you 
count me it's more/' 

But Mr, Davenant shook his head as he picked 
up his book and sat down, 

"This is nonsense/' he said r " How can you 
cost six thousand ? " 

** We do, and we* re desperate/* said Di. 

* Well, my dears, so am I," said Mr, Davenant, 
comfortably ; " but I dare, say we •shall all get 
over it in time. Ah, here's your mother 1 " 

And Mrs. Davenant, who took life as easily as 
her husband, entered the room with a letter. 

" Here's a letter for you, Edward/ 1 said 

Mr, Davenant reached out his hand without 
turning round, and, putting the letter in his book, 
went on reading. 

" We've got to begin again with mother/' said 

** Yes, my dear, what is it ? " asked Mrs. 

Davenant. Original from 




" We're tired of seeing no one but Cecil Silsoe, 
and we want to go to London," said Di. 

" We haven't the money, my darlings," said 
Mrs. Davenant. 

" Why doesn't that horrid old brute, Redburn, 
turn the White House into a hospital ? " asked 

" Tosh, he can't," said Billy; " he's dead ! " 

" Dead 1 " exclaimed the others. 

" Oh, yes, the postman told me and I forgot 
to mention it," said Billy. 

" Forgot 1 Good heavens ! " said Mrs. Daven- 
ant. " Edward ! Who will have the White 
House now Mr. Redburn is dead ? " 

" Did you say old Redburn was dead ? " asked 
Mr. Davenant, waking up. " Now, if that's 
true it's a very good thing. His next of kin will 
have it, of course." 

And then, as he. began to read the letter, 
the others discussed old Mr. Redburn. 

" Think of his wanting to marry Molly I " said' 

" It was the most awful thing that ever 
happened to me," said Molly, shuddering. 

" Who's Hilary French ? " asked Mr. Davenant. 
" It seems he's ojd Redburn 's next of kin." 

" Oh ! " said Billy, looking at Molly, who 
turned pale and glared at her young sister. 

" Hilary French 1 I don't know, but I seem 
to have heard the name." replied Mrs. Davenant. 

" I know something about him," said Molly. 
" I think he's an actor." 

" By Jove, and now he's got the dear old 
White House and all that money," said Billy. 
" But, dad, dad, what about him ? Is there any 
more, and who's the letter from ? " 

" From your uncle Tom, and — and— oh, yes, 
here it is. He says in the postscript that .Hilary 
French is an actor and a painter and a writer and 
a soldier and quite, quite a genius," said Mr. 
Davenant, " and he's coming down here at once. 
Now, my darlings, it's all settled. You can go 
away and pack for London." 

" Oh, I say ! " said Bilty, and Molly, going 
quite white, sat down suddenly. 

"I'm not really anxious to go, dad," said 
Molly. " I only said so because I thought I was 
well enough now." 

" My dear," said her mother, turning to her 
husband, " I don't understand this." 

" Don't you ? " said Mr. Davenant, rising. 
" / do." 

He stood with his back to the fireplace and 
surveyed them satirically. 

" I do wake up sometimes, my darlings," he 
said, laughing. 

" Oh, dad." said Billy. " do you ? " 

" But you can't all marry Mr. Hilary French," 
said their father. 

" What, marry an actor ? " asked Mrs. 

" With seven thousand a year and the White 
House full of gorgeous things," said Mr. Davenant. 
" But, of course, you don't want to marry him. 
Your notion is merely to get to London ! Now, 
my dears, let me have a little peace. Settle who 
is to many him, or there will be trouble. You 
had better toss up for him 1 'V 

'\ Edward ! " cried Mrs. Davenant. 

"Stay," said Mr. Davenant; "tossing is 
undignified. Billy, go to the library. At the 
left end of the third shelf in the big bookcase you 
will see, in a peculiarly dreadful binding, a book 
called 'The Way of all Flesh,' by the eminent 
satiric author, Samuel Butler. Bring it to me." 

Billy obeyed, and while the others wondered 
what was coming, Mr. Davenant surveyed his 
disconsolate children with great glee. They 
hadn't a word to say till Billy returned. Her 
father took the book from her. 

" On the whole this is, perhaps, not a work to 
be recommended indiscriminately to the ingen- 
uous and enthusiastic," he said, as he turned 
over some of the earlier pages ; " but I recommend 
to your attention page 43 while I retire to the 
library to see how much more I can overdraw 
my account with a view to your immediate 
departure for Londcn." 

And as he went out Mrs. Davenant followed 
him meekly. 

" I'll read it," said Molly, snatching the book, 
" This is it : — 

1 My dears,' said their father, when he saw they did not «ecm 
likely to Settle the matter among themselves, 'wait till 10 
morrow and play at cards for him 1 ' 

How — how dreadful ! " 

" That must be it," said Billy, " but I don't 
see that it's dreadful. It seems very sensible 
to me." 

" I'd— I'd rather not do it," said Molly. 
" But — but if I did agree, what should we play 
at ? " 

" Ha, ha, I know," said Billy, with her hand " 
on Molly's arm. " Let's do poker patience for 
him. I'll call the cards for you as I'm not in it." 

As soon as twelve cards were dealt Kitty began 
to fidget. 

" Bah, I might have got a royal right off/' she 
said, crossly. 

" So might I," said Di, with gloom. 

" I've got it," said Molly, meekly. " I'm— 
I'm so sorry." 

And presently she got another, and when tin 
scores were added up Molly had one hundred 
and fourteen points, Kitty ninety-nine, and Di 
came last with eighty. 

" It's Molly ! it's Molly ! " said Billy, with 
delight. " And now I've got a splendid idea 1 " 

" What is it ? " asked Molly. 

" My idea is that even when we are all giving 
you a chance to see if you like him and if he likes 
you, you may sometimes want us to go away 
altogether. So my idea is that you shall have 
the ace of hearts and carry it, and that when you 
want us to go you shall show it and we will." 

" And how long is that to last ? " asked Kitty, 
sniffing. " Supposing it seems that he ,likes Di 
best, or — or me ? Are we to go on going when 
Molly shows the ace of hearts ? " 

" Oh, no, no," said Molly. " If he seems to like 
any of you best, or — or if I don't like him myself, 
I'll give the ace of hearts to the one he likes best."' 

And just as it was all arranged the drawing- 
room door opened and Mr. Cecil Silsoe was 
announced. He was a thin weed of a young 
man, rejected far railitivry service because he 







couldn't see, and for every other kind of service 
because he was silly* At least, that is what 
Billy said, 

M I — T just thought I'd look in;" said Cecil, as 
an eyeglass felt out of his eye and clicked against 
his watch-chain- " I've some news for you/' 

" So've we/' said Billy. " Old Redburn's 
dead 1 " 

** Oh/' said Silsoe, disconsolately, " that's 
what I was going to tell you/' 

" And his heir is coming down at once/' said 

"Ishc?" asked Silsoe. " I didn't know that. 
Who U he?" 

" He's Hilary French;'' said Di. 

" Oh, come now, I know Hilary French/' said 
Silsoe, as if that put the notion out of court. 

+ - And he may be here any moment. Perhaps 
he's coming down in a car now/* said Di. 

" Oh p no, he isn't/' said Cecil Silsoe; "it's 
awfully foggy, I nearly ran into three carts as 
I came along. . . , Oh, I say, what's that ? " 

No wonder he asked, for there was a loud 
crash in the road outside, Cecil bolted for the 
door and Billy followed him. 

The others ran to the window looking out on 
the drive leading to the lodge gates, which were 
only about fifty yards from the house the other 
side of a grove of pines. The next moment 
Billy came in with her face blazing with excite- 
ment and joy. 

*' It's— its him ! " she screamed. ** Oh. he's 

such a duck, and he has made a mess of Cecil's 

silly old car, and 1 saw him with a lamp and, oh 

Vol u.-ia 

by Google 

isn't it dark, and he called me * my dear' in such 
a delightful voice, and he isn't hurt a bit, though 
his bonnet is crumpled up, and as soon as they've 
shoved Cecil's scrap-heap into the ditch he's 
coming here, for it's too black dark to move ! " 

And as she went out whirling, the footsteps 
of Cecil Silsoe and a stranger were heard on the 
gravel path, and with Silsoe's rather absurd 
falsetto was heard the voice that Billy called 
"delightful/ 1 

" Let's— let's go into the hall/' said Di. 

" 1 — 1 don't want to/' said Molly, and some- 
how she slipped on the parquet floor and hurt 
her ankle, and retired to the sofa in a great state 
of nervous agitation. Then she heard her father 
speak in the halL 

" Welcome to Kcdingham, Mr. French ! " 

l( Oh ! " said Molly, as the others came into 
the room. 

11 What, on the sofa once more ? " exclaimed 
her father. 

" I hurt my ankle again/' said Molly, as she 
tried to rise. 

11 My eldest daughter, Molly, Mr. French/' 
said Mr* Davenant; "she had a little accident 
some time ago." 

" Oh, dad h she was blown through a window/ 1 
said Billy, " At munitions, Mr. French ! " 

And Hilary shook hands with her and smiled, 

" Then we are war-comrades," he said, 

Hilary French was induced to have some 
supper, and as the fog got much thicker he was 
obliged to stay alL night. After food he came 

Original from 



back into the drawing-room and smoked cigar- 
ettes, and was good enough to explain his jokes 
to his hostess, and every moment Molly fell 
deeper in love and Kitty grew more jealous and 
Di more subdued, and Billy more inclined to say 
things which make mothers ^end flappers to bed. 
But if the Davenants took to Hilary it was plain 
that Cecil Silsoe grew more and more disturbed. 
He saw that he was being ousted by the new- 
comer from his proud position as ^he only eligible 
in the county. 

There was no more talk about London, though 
Mr. Davenant, when in his'satiric mood, mentioned 
it in order to worry the girls. The liberty of the 
park surrounding the White House, which had 
hitherto been anathema to every girl in Recjing- 
ham, gentle or simple, was now theirs, and for 
the first time Mr. Davenant was able to enjoy 
the gorgeous things in its picture gallery, about 
which Hilary and he projected an artistic 
monograph. If Hilary was a godsend to the 
youth of Redingham Hall he was no less one to 
their father, who discovered each day some new 
possibility in his genius. Some of these dis- 
coveries were due to Billy, who told Hilary all 
about the estate and got him to rent the Home 
Farm from Mr. Davenant and join it on to the 
farm of his own best tenant, an English farmer 
who actually got all out of land that it could 
yield and yet made it better each year. Every- 
thing indeed went swimmingly, and the, sky 
seemed clear to the very horizon save for cloudy 
Cecil Silsoe, who gave up asking everyone to 
marry him but Molly. 

" Never mind him, darling," said Billy. " As 
soon as you are engaged Hilary will settle him. 
What a pity you can't show him the ace of 
hearts ! He is a fool." 

Just as there is danger in thinking that a wise 
man is all wise, there is risk in supposing a fool 
is all a fool. It happened that Cecil Silsoe 
noticed what Hilary failed to observe. Perhaps 
incipient love blinded the genius, while the 
grindstone of jealousy sharpened the wits of the 
dullard. It was presently borne in on Cecil 
that Di and Kitty left Hilary to Molly with 
remarkable self-abnegation. This might have 
been comprehensible in Di, but he knew that 
* Kitty was of a jealous disposition and apt to 
show it. 

" This is a put-up job to catch French," he 
growled, " because he's rich and an actor and an 
artist. Before he came I was gettin' on first- 
class with Molly." 

He went to see Hilary, who had rigged up a 
studio in the north end of the picture gallery, 
and when he saw that there was a sketch of 
Molly on the big easel he burst out. 

"J say, French, you know quite well I'm 
sweet on Molly Davenant," he said, with 
sudden gloom. 

* " As you were on Ada Carew, alias Rebecca 
Moses ; and on about fifteen other chorus-girls 
who were not exactly the pick of the market, 
old chap," said Hilary. 

" That's all in the past," growled Silsoe. 

" Is it ? " asked Hilary. " Ada doesn't think 
so nor does her mother. Mrs. Moses came to 

see me a month ago and wanted your new 

" Eh, eh, what ? " said Cecil, jumping up. 
'" You didn't give it her ? " 

11 No, I was merciful,'" replied Hilary. " I 
said you were in a lunatic asylum." 

" Well, I own that was good of you," sighed 
Cecil, with great relief. " But I ain't goin' to be 
shoved off what I was sayin\ You^re a fool, 
you are 1 It's a put-up job between the lot 
of 'em." 

" What's a put-up job ? " asked Hilary, 

" Why, to make you marry my Molly," 
moaned Silsoe. 

Hilary put down his brush and walked to the 
open window, which he closed. 

" Have you ever been thrown into rose bushes 
after going through a shut window ? "he asked; 
" because, if you say much more, that's what 
will happen to you. And when it has happened 
1'U write to Ada to come and nurse you." 

Cecil turned pale. 

" It ain't fair ' doos ' to threaten me with 
Ada," he said, weakly. " And that doesn't 
make any difference to the fact that the other 
two girls always leave you alone with Molly. 
It's a game ; that's what it is— a game to catch 

" Hook it," said Hilary; " skedaddle, or " 

And when Silsoe had gone Hilary sat down 
and began to think. 

" .Confound him ! " he said as he got up again 
and went back to his easel. But he couldn't go 
on painting and went to the window. In the 
distance he saw Billy, and putting his fingers to 
his mouth he whistled loud and long. When 
she turned he beckoned to her and she came 

" What do you want me for ? " asked Billy, 
curling up in a chair. 

" Well, I daresay I oughtn't to ask, but it has 
to come out, Billy," said Hilary, with a certain 
air which made him look younger than thirty. 
" What's the hieaning of the ace of hearts in your 
family ? " 

" Yoy — you noticed it ? " said Billy. " I — I 
can't tell you. It's a kind of thing dad calls a 

" Molly's fetish ? " asked Hilary. 

" Yes, at — at present. She sleeps with it 
under her pillow, I suppose. I have something 
under mine. We all have, but don't speak 
of them," said Billy, who was obviously in 

" If I don't know better what it means than 
that I'm going back to London to-day," said 

" No, no," cried Billy. " You mustn't say 
that. Your coming has made everything differ- 
ent. And Molly— no, I mean Kitty — and IX 
and I do so like you. Can't you do without 
knowing about the ace of hearts ? If I have a 
secret, a family secret, ought I to tell it ? " 

" Certainly not," said Hilary, sadly. 

" Then it would be wrong to try to get it out 
of me by saying you'd go away, just as we've 
got to like you !ia,aw6lMMH't it ? " asked Bill v. 




" Very wrong, I suppose," repifed Hilary, 

" Then you'll stay ? " said Billy. 

" J want to," said Hilary, doubtfully. 

" Hurrah!" said Billy; "but, I say, do tell 
me what made you gloomy and — and inquisitive 
this morning ? " 

" I can't quite tell you, but it's something that 
Cecil Silsoe said," replied Hilary. 

And just then Cecil Silsoe called from the other 
side of the roses : — 

" Halloa, French, may I come in ? What I've 
got to say is most important." 

" Very well ; go round to the door," said 
Hilary, reluctantly. He turned to Billy and 
spoke in a low voice. 

" You can go into the little room at the end of 
the gallery, if you don't mind," said Hilary. 
" He sha'n't stop long." 

And Billy retreated with haste, being in fear 
that Hilary would ask her to shut the door of the 
little room. She had hardly got out of sight 
before Cecil put his head in at the other door. 

" Fair ' doos ' and no jaw about the window 
or Ada ? " he asked, cautiously. 

" Fair ' doos,' you jackass," replied Hilary. 
" What is it you want ? " 

" What I said was true," said Silsoe, actually 
with real tears in his eyes. " Oh, how I did love 
Molly, and now I suppose she means to chuck 
me after as good as sayin' * yes ' by sayin' nothin' 
when I proposed to her ten times that day as we 
came back from church by way of the fields." 

" Have you come to tell me that ? " asked 
Hilary, politely. 

4i No ; I've come to warn you and tell you the 
truth, the real truth," groaned Silsoe. 

" Thanks," said Hilary, dryly ; " but if you'd 
get it off your chest and have done with it " 

" I will," said Cecil ; " but are all women 
wicked ? When I left you I went over towards 
Davenant 's place, meanin' to ask Molly for fair 
* doos,' and when I got to the holly hedge I 
beard her and her cousin Kitty havin' a real 
royal set-to on the other side of it. And Kitty 
(she's all right and I'd sooner marry her than 
Ada) has a voice our old M.F.H. would give a 
fiver for when she's up. and what she let on was 
that Molly wasn't playin' fair, and something 
about the ace of hearts that I didn't tumble to, 
and that when the gals knew you were comin' 
down they played cards as to who should have 
you, and Molly won." 

Hilary walked away to the other side of the 
room and stood for a long minute. When he 
turned round he was very pale but, to Cecil's 
relief, quite quiet. 

" You — you heard that ? " he asked. 

" Fair doos, I did," moaned Cecil. 

" You've told no one else ? " said Hilary, 
taking up a paint-brush and playing with it. 

" No one, old chap," returned Silsoe. " Who'd 
I tell but you ?" 

" If you say a word about this you won't be 
beyond Ada," said Hilary ; " and now get out ! " 

And when the door closed he sat down. 
Presently he heard a soft step behind him, and 
Billy touched him on the arm. 

" I— I heard everything. Oh, Hilary ! " she 
said, with tears. 

" I wish you hadn't," said her friend. 

" I'll tell you everything," said Billy. " I 
saw I must while that fool Cecil was talking. 
The — the ace of hearts isn't really a fetish." 

Hilary took her hand. 

" My dear, I won't press you to tell me any- 
thing," he said. " But you're a wise little girl, 
so do what you think best." 

" You see, we all wanted to go to London," 
said Billy, sitting down close to him, " because 
it's so dull here, mostly. And then you were 
coming, and it didn't seem dull at all. And 
dad, who's awfully amusing when he's not 
reading, laughed at us because we were so glad, 
and he — he said we should quarrel over you as 
to which you'd like best, and' he made me fetch 
a silly book from the library which had in it 
about girls who played cards about a curate- 
person so as not to quarrel over him. And we 
did it, too, for — for fun, I suppose, and because 
you were so clever and nice, and so on. And I 
felt Molly would win, and so she did, and " 

And just then there was a knock at the door. 
When the butler came in he announced Mr. 
Davcnant. He found Billy and his host standing 
by the portrait. 

" Ah, here I am," said Mr. Davenant, " and 
there you are, Billy ! Ah, but is this my Molly ? '" 

And he put up his glasses to criticize -and 
admire what was really a very clever but un- 
finished sketch. 

" It's quite delightful," said Molly's father, 
" I'd no idea she was quite so beautiful and had 
such a good head." 

And after a little talk about pictures in general 
Mr. Davenant and Billy departed. Hilary saw 
them walk down the drive. But he did not see 
Di and Molly coming across the grass. 

" Chance ! " said Hilary, bitterly. He walked 
about the studio. " I was just — a chance ! 

He took up his palette and, squeezing some 
flake-white and vermilion on it, sat down in 
front of the portrait. With rapid touches ne 
put into Molly's hand the ace of hearts. 

" A chance," said Hilary — " no more than 
that 1 I'll go back to town." 

He rang the bell, and getting no immediate 
answer went out of the studio. A minute later 
Molly and Di came to the window opening ;>n 
the northern lawn. 

" There's no ; one here," said Di. " But he 
said we could come in whenever we liked. Let's 
look at you again." 

" I've never had a good look," said Molly, as 
she crossed the threshold after her sister. 

" Oh ! " said Di. 
" What is it ? " said her sister. 

But Di did not answer she only pointed at 
the portrait, without eyes for anything but the 
dreadful addition Hilary had just made to It. 
When Molly saw it she turned as white as flake- 
white and clutched the back of the nearest 

" What's it mean ? " she said. 

" He knows ! " said Di. " Who — who told 
him ? " 




M What does he think of me?" asked Molly. 
•' Di t whatever I say yon must back me up in." 

And when Hilary came back into the studio 
and saw the two girls he turned almost as white 
as Molly. 

M I see you've been working on the portrait, 




Mr. French/' said Molly, calmly* "And what 
dues the — the ace of hearts mean ? ** 

Hilary took up a brush, rubbed it hard in some 
palette scrapings, and blotted out the card. 

HH It was an idea of minc + a — -a temporary 
notion- — just an idea." he stammered* 

,f 1 like it best without/" said Molly, steadily, 
"for I want it to be so arranged between us 
that my father has it when I leave hom£. 

ten X leave home, I 

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shall not be at home l«ng now, as I'm — I'm 
engaged to Mr, Silsoe/' 

"I'm sure — I suppose/' said Hilary; " that 
is, I own I'm a little surprised. I — congratulate 
you." * 

" i like the sketch as it is," said Molly " and— 

and I shan't be 
able to sit again, I 

11 You shall have it 
as it is/ 1 said Hilary, 
without looking at 
her. "Since I'm 
going back to town, 

I mightn't have 
been able to do 
more to it for — for 
a long time/' 

" Come, Di," said 
Molly. " Good-bye, 
Mr, French." 

He went towards 
the window with 
them and never said 
a word more. As 
they walked across 
the park Di wept, 
but Molly didn't. She 
only looked " queer," 
as Hilly said when 
she met them H 

" Is Cecil here ? " 
asked Molly. 

" He's^ with poor 
mother/ 1 said Billy. 

" Tell him I want 
to see him/* said her 

And Cecil came in 
a few nun u tea, look- 
ing as if he expected 
instant execution, 

H You've asked 
me to marry you 
many times," said 
Molly, coldly, 

"You ain't 
angry?" said Cecil, 

II 1— I couldn't help 

" Very well, I will 
marry you/* said 

"Thanks aw- 
fully ! " said Cecil* 
" This is a surprise I 
I never thought 
you'd have me* 
Thanks a w f u 1 i y I 
May — may I go away and think of it ? " 
** Yes, do," said Molly. 

Mr. Da ven ant sat in his library in a state of 
more than sufficient happiness, being totally 
unconscious that a jest, abstracted from the 
satiric Samuel Butler, proved to demonstration 
that writer's pet theory that no man is dead 
white his ch@|4qfRa|at J fr'!*FF|ti n S s achieve work, 




In fact, the owner of Redingham Hall was in 
the ridiculous and somewhat tragic position of 
those who " didn't know it was loaded." He 
had pulled the trigger or fired the mine, and was 
about to experience the fact that a gun some- 
times explodes, a mine back-fires, and a joke 
comes home to roost. But the fact that Molly 
pleaded a headache and stayed in her room 
instead of coming to dinner did not worry him. 
He had a new parcel of books, the weather was 
fine, the Home Farm off his hands, and Molly 
likely to be. 

And then Mrs. Davenant came in. As soon 
as he saw her face he knew that all his visions 
of a peaceful evening were but dreams. 

" What's the matter, my dear ? " he asked, 
with a sigh. 

" I want you to see Billy and I've told her to 
come here," said his wife. " I believe there is 
something wrong between Mr. French and 

And at that moment Billy came in. 

" Leave her to me, my dear, " said Mr. Davenant. 
And Mrs. Davenant retired to the drawing-room. 

" Now, my darling," said Mr. Davenant. 
" What's wrong between Molly and Mr. French ?" 

" He's found out ! " said Billy, gloomily. " Oh, 
dad, it's all your fault ! " 

" Mine ! mine ! " echoed her father in amaze- 

" What you said ! In that horrid book about 
cards ! " said Billy. " Butler's book and playing 
for the curate ! " 

" Good heavens," exclaimed her father, " I 
remember. And — and did they play for him ? " 

" Yes," said Billy, " and I dealt. It was 
poker patience. And Molly won, and — and 
Cecil has told Mr. French ! " 

And then she. told him how Cecil had come 
while she was in the picture gallery and what 
had happened afterwards.' „ • 

" Confo-ind him/' said Mr. Davenant. " This 
is most unfortunate ! And I see it was my fault ! " 

Then Billy told him all about the ace of hearts 
and how Di had told her that Molly saw the 
portrait with it painted in and had sent her for 

" Sent you for Cecil, sent you for Cecil ! " 
repeated her father in amazement. " Did she 
want to murder him ? " 

" No, to marry him ! She doesn't know he 
told," said Billy. 

" There is a slang phrase which describes 
disaster as being in the soup," said Mr, Davenant, 
as he walked about the room. " And that's 
where we are. I want your mother, Billy, and 
Hilary, and that infernal Cecil, too. Run o er 
and fetch them. I saw them in the park just 

" We're in the soup," said Mr. Davenant, when 
his wife entered. " Molly's engaged herself to 

And presently Billy came in at the French 
window with Hilary behind her.. 

" My dear French," said Mr. Davenant, going 
to him instantly, " this is a — a queer business. 
You know everything ? 

Yes," said Hilary. 

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" Did Cecil really tell you this — this nonsense?" 
asked Mr. Davenant. 

" Yes," said Hilary, " and Billy told me all 
the rest." 

" Where's that Silsoe ? "asked Mr. Davenant. 
And going to the window he called Cecil, who 
came as reluctantly as a young puppy who knows 
he has done wrong. 

" You — you leaky tub, you spout, do I under- 
stand you say you are engaged to Molly ? " 
asked Mr. Davenant, angrily. 

" I — I couldn't help it, sir." urged Cecil, feebly. 
" I did ask her, but I — I thought she wouldn't, 
and then she did, you see." 

" This engagement must be broken off," said 
Mr. Davenant. " Oh, it never existed ! " 

" I — I don't think I want to be married at all," 
said Cecil, miserably. 

" Good Lord," said Davenant. " Where's 
Kitty ? Let's find out the truth." 

" You ain't goin' to tell her what I said, are 
you ? " asked Cecil, in great alarm. " She's the 
only one who was never down on me, and now 
she'll get mad." 

" You've brought it on yourself," said Billy, 

" Everyone is down on me," said Cecil. 
" French is always throwin' the past up at me." 

" What does he mean, French ? " asked 
Mr. Davenant. 

" He was engaged to an actress," said French. 

" Not to call it engaged/' urged Cecil. " Ada 
chased me ! That's what she did ! Chased me ! 
Mayn't I go away ? I don't think I want to get 

" You told me half an hour ago that you'd as 
soon marry Miss Kitty Davenant as anyone," 
said Hilary, suddenly. 

" Go and fetch her," said Mr. Davenant. 1 

And Billy went rejoicing, while Cecil collapsed 
on a chair. 

Then Kitty came in with Billy and Di. 

" Kitty," said her uncle, " just cast your mind 
back over to-day. Were you talking with Molly 
about — cards — on our side of the holly hedge ? " 

It was lucky for Kitty that Molly had prepared 

" Yes, uncle, we did speak of them," she said. 
- "So it is possible that Mr. Silsoe, if he had been 
on the other side of the hedge, might have over- 
heard you-? " 

" Yes, 1 suppose it is possible," she said ; "but 
— but I'm sure it's impossible that Mr. Silsoe told 
anyone about it." 

" I didn't mean to," said Cecil; " I swear I 
didn't. I went over to French's sayin' I wouldn't, 
and — and it came out ! " 

" He didn't know it was all a joke, Kitty," 
said Mr. Davenant. significantly; " but, of course, 
he knows it now." — 

" And may I go, please ? " stammered Silsoe. 
" I — I must go now or I shall be late. And my 
hands tremble so I sha'n't be able to drive the 

" I'll drive you," said Kitty, sternly. "You 
aren't safe alone." 

And Kitty led him away. 

" One minute, French/' said Mr. Davenant, 




turning to his wife. " Tell Molly I want to see 
her presently, say in a quarter of an hour. And 
you girls can go," said he,, closing the door after 

" This is a very unfortunate mess, my dear ■ 
French," he said, as he came back to Hilary, 
" but you see it was my fault, though that 
infernal rascal, Samuel Butler, is most to blame. 
I'm afraid you feel sore about it," 

" I do, yes, I do," said Hilary. " You see, I 
was in a way made just — a chance, and — and 
supposing Molly, I mean lvliss Davenant, hadn't — 
hadn't won and had gone away whenever I came, 
I don't suppose I should have cared for her. I 
may be foolish, but I own that I never took to 
anyone who obviously didn't distinguish me." . 

" But, all the same," said Davenant, " I know 
my own daughter well enough to know that she 
did — distinguish you. And if — if "by any chance 
you should think your position and wealth made 
any difference, V should like to* point out to you 
that, if she had chosen, she might have had the 
White House now and everything in it, as your 
uncle asked her to marry him." 
. " The — the infernal old ruffian ! " said Hilary. 
" I'm sorry to say it " 

" It's a very reasonable remark," said Mr. 
Davenant. " Of course, the whole thing was 
utterly impossible." 

" And now she's engaged to Silsoc ! " said 

14 Nonsense, my dear man," replied Davenant. 
" Let me tell you that if I know anything at all 
about her he's engaged to Kitty by now, and 
she'll never let him go, never I " 

Just then Billy put her head into the room. 

"Molly is locked up in her room and won't 
come," said she. 

" Hadn't I better go, sir ? " asked Hilary. 

,f No ; wait," said Mr. Davenant, and as he 
left the room Billy ran to Hilary. 

" Isn't it — isn't it all right ? " she demanded. 

" I'm afraid not," said Hilary. 

" You think you were only just a stranger to 
all of us and that none of us had ever seen you, 
don't you ? " Billy asked. 

" Yes," said Hilary. 

" Ah, but Molly had seen you ! " said Billy, 

" What ? Where ? When ? " asked Hilary, 

" Before the war, when you were an actor," 
replied Billy. " And if you don't believe me, 
she's got the programme now, and — and your 
portrait. She and I often talked of you 
before we knew your wicked old uncle was your 
uncle, but no one else knew we did. And I 
shall be unhappy if you go." 

" Will you, kiddy ? " asked Hilary, putting his 
hand on hers. 

" Yes," said Billy : " and I wanted to tell you 
all about the ace of hearts. When Molly won I 
knew Di would be silly and never see when she 
wasn't wanted, and Kitty would be jealous, so 
I said it would be best for Molly to have the 
ace of hearts so long as she liked you and you 
liked her, and that we were to go away if she 
showed it, and that if she didn't like you and 

Digitized by LiOOQ IC 

you liked someone else better she was to give 
it up. But you did seem to like her, and she 
wouldn't give it up. • So you see it all now. Save 
I made things better ? " 

" Perhaps you have, my dear," said Hilary, 
as the door opened and Mr. Davenant returned. 

" Go away, Billy," he said, and Billy retired 
into the garden very reluctantly. 

" I've come to the conclusion during the last 
few minutes," said Davenant, as he closed the 
window kfter her, " that there is a great deal to 
be said for the Oriental system of keeping girls 
as you .keep chickens, in a coop, till they are 
introduced to their future husbands. Or, again, 
the Chinese method of drowning them has its 
points. I find it hard to carry on a convincing 
argument albout such a personal matter with a 
grown-up daughter behind a mahogany door 
which she refuses to open." 

Hilary lookeii up. 

" Is Miss Davenant 's room just overhead, 
sir ? " he asked. 

" Yes," said Davenant. 

" Is — is her window open, by any chance ? " 
asked Hilary, eagerly. 

" It always is," said Davenant. " Do — do I 
understand you have an idea ? *For if you 
haven't I have." 

" Mine is to — to go outside " i^egan Hilar}'. 

" That's mine, too," said Davenant, in great 

" And I'll tell you how grieved I am about all 
this, and how I forgive everyone except myself, 
and that she is the most beautiful woman I 
ever saw, and that I shall carry her image with 
me if I'm allowed to go back to the Front, and 
that if I'm not I shall take it further to— ^to " 

" Let's say Honduras," said Davenant. " My 
dear boy, tttis is genius in both of us. Shall we 
go outside ? And I will say, ' Good-bye, Hilary, 
my dear, dear boy ; ' the dearest wish of my 
heart ^was that you should be my son-in-law/ 
and you will continue, and then when you have 
gone down the drive you can sit on the stile the 
other side of the rhododendrons and wait till I 
send for you." 

And they went outside the window and stood 
upon the stone path which ran the length of 
the house on the west side. 

" Then it is good-bye ? " said Mr. Davenant, 
in heartbroken tones. 

" For — for ever," said Hilary. " You see, it 
is the only thing I can do." 

M You mean to return to the Army if they will 
take you ? " asked Davenant, in heart-broken 
tones. " Would that I were younger 1 " 

" And if they will not, I shall go where I told 
you," said Hilary, with an accent that somehow 
suggested the very end of the world. 

" Ah, to Honduras ! " moaned Daveflant. 
" My dear Hilary, it is not a healthy place ; out 
I suppose you do not care now ? " 

" How can I, my dear friend ? " replied Hilary. 
" But so long as I live I shall remain a bacnetor. 
I shall never see anyone 1 think so beautiful. ' 

" I'm heart-broken," said Davenant. " My 
dearest wish was that you should be my "son- 




M Destiny, destiny 1 ,p 
said Hilary, sorrowfully. 
" Good - bye, good - bye, 
good-bye I " 

And as be walked down 
the drive with Ms head 
upon his breast Mr; Dave- 
nant returned to his chair 
and, after opening his 
watch, took it off the 
chain and laid it in front - 
of him on the blotting- 
pad, and sat with his 
chin upon his hands. 

"Five, ten, twenty, 
half a minute, forty -five 
seconds, one minute/' said 
Davenant* " One, two, 
three, four, five, six, seven, 
eight, nine, ten I " 

"■ f 



And the library door opened* Mr, Da vena nt 
did not turn round. 

" Father ! " said Molly, 

" Yes, my darling ? " said her father, still 
without changing Ins attitude, " What — what 
is it ? " 

" Is Mr, French going away ? I — I thought t 
heard him say so. My — my window was open," 
said Molly. 

M Was it ? You don't say so," said Mr. 
Davenant, sadly. " Well, perhaps you heard 
rightly, my dear ; but you mustn't worry about 
it. I dare say he'll come back some day, after 
a few years, just a few years. And by that time 
you'll be married to that Silsoe." 

' No, dad, no 1 " cried Molly, "I won't marry 
him, 1 won't I I — can't ! " 

■' Then why did you accept him and make a 
man, a real man like Hilary, a wretched out- 

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cast ? " demanded her father, suddenly turning 
on her. H< Don't you know he loves you ? But 
he's got pride, and acts as I should have done/' 

" Oh, what am I to do ? " wailed Molly. 
" What am I to do ? " 

And just then there was the sound of a 
motor- horn, 

' That's Kitty come back in Cecil's car," said 
Davenant, and the next minute his niece came 
in by the window, She looked flushed and 
determined. She went straight up to Molly, 

" Look here, Molly, don't you be a fool ! 
You're not going to marry Cecil," she said. 
" I'm going to marry him. His mother and I 
arranged it>a week ago, and we told him about 
it together just now, for Mrs, Silsoe says the 
responsibility for him is too much for her, 
especially as she has just heard from that Miss 

Original from 



" Oh ! " said Molly, as she collapsed on a 

" My dear, I congratulate you," said Mr. 
Davenant. " You, at any rate, will be able to 
manage him. My dearest wish has always been 
that Cecil Silsoe should be my nephew-in-law. 
Kiss me and kiss your cousin, and go and tell 
your aunt and Di." 

And Kitty did kiss Molly, and, saying aloud 
" Buck up ! " whispered something in her ear. 

" Oh, Kitty ! " said Molly, as her cousin went 
out of the room. 

"What is it ? " asked her father. 

"Kitty says that — that Mr. French is sittting 
on the grass by- the rhododendrons," said 
Molly. A 

" Then he'll get sciatica," said Mr. Davenant. 
" A pretty kind of preparation for the Army and 
Honduras I " 

" I don't want him to go to Honduras," said 
Molly, rising and turning away. 

41 Wait here till 1 come back," said Davenant. 
" I've had sciatica myself and I know what 
it is." 

And he vanished by the window. As soon as 
he was gone Molly ran to a little mirror in a 
Venetian frame which hung near the door and 
dabbed her eyes and put her hair straight. 
Then she sat down at her father's desk. She 
wondered why his watch was there, and used it 
as he had used it to count the seconds. She 
counted them up till they made nearly five 
minutes, and then heard a step on the path. It 
could not be her father's, for she heard him 
speak to someone in the passage outside. Then 
she heard Hilary's voice. 

" Molly — Miss Davenant ! " said Hilary. 

" Oh ! " said Molly, rising. M Mr.— Mr. 
French ! " 

" Forgive me, but 1 must see you before I 
go," said Hilary. 

" Where — where are you going ? " asked Molly, 
without looking at him. 

" I — I was thinking of Honduras," said 

" You — you oughtn't to go to such a place till 
you're really strong," murmured Molly. 

Hilary came straight up to her. 

" Molly, I don't want to go there," he said. 
" I've been a fool. I want to finish your portrait, 
and— and " 

" I don't know what to say," said Molly. 
*' Please, please, you mustn't." 

" I want you to marry me." 

" That's — that's impossible," said Molly. " I'll 
— I'll be a — sister to you." 

" Oh, no, you won't ! I've got four already," 
said Hilary. 

" I couldn't marry you after — after everything 
that's happened," said Molly, looking away. 

" I understand everything," said Hilary, 
seizing her hand. " Billy has told me all." 

" No, no, she hasn't," said Molly ; " she 
doesn't know everything I " 

" It„wasn't your fault," said Hilary ; " your 
dear father has told me that he is to blame ; and, 
oh, he is wretched about it ! " 

" Is he ? " asked Molly, turning away. " I'd — 
I'd do anything for dad." 

" Then, of course, you must marry me," said 
Hilary. " Molly, my dear, I love you, I love 
you ! " 

" And — and do you still think that — that you 
were a — a chance ? " asked Molly, " and that it 
might have been someone else ? " 

" Billy says it wasn't, and that you knew me 
before I knew you, dear, and — and didn't dislike 
me," said Hilary. " Be good to me and forgive 
me all my foolishness." 

" I think you behaved nobly," said Molly, 
•• only " 

" Only what ? " said Hilary, taking possession 
of her waist. 

" You — you weren't a chance at all," sobbed 
Molly. " There's something you don't know 
that I ought to tell you and I don't know how." 

" Tell me everything — everything ! " said 

"I'm afraid you'd think it wrong and dis- 
honourable of me," said Molly. " Billy doesn't 
know it, or I'd ask her to tell you instead of me, 
before — before you went to Honduras. You 
weren't at all a chance ! Oh, oh, Hilary, you 
weren't ! I didn't mean you to be ! " 

" I know you didn't," said Hilary, 

" Oh, no, you don't," said Molly, " and I'm 
so afraid you'll be angry. Men are so particular 
about if. I — I must confess it, I " 

" Good heavens ! What is it? "asked Hilary, 
evidently a little alarmed. " Come, come, tell 

" Men are so particular about it," repeated 
Molly. "Why, they even turn people out of 
society for it ! " 

" Do they — do they ? " asked Hilary. " Oh, 
my darling, you haven't done anything wrong, 
hdve you ? " 

" Yes, very wrong," said Molly. " Oh, Hilary— 
Mr. French, I mean — when we played cards " 

" Yes, yes ? " said Hilary. " Go on — go on ! " 

" I— I cheated," said Molly. 

" What ! " said Hilary, " you— you cheated ? " 

" I meant to win — and I did," said Molly. 

" You meant to ? " cried Hilary. " That 
settles it." 

" Settles it ? " asked Molly. " Do you mean 
Honduras ? " 

" Certainly not," said Hilary. And at that 
moment Mr. Davenant put his head into the 
room, and Hilary saw him. 

" I don't mind who goes away," said Hilary, 
triumphantly, " but I'm going to stay here." 

And Molly's father, taking the hint, closed the 
door gently. 

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Original from 






The "following extracts from "The Diary of a U-Boat Commander" are 

published by arrangement with the " New York Herald." As will be seen, 

the editor of that paper describes them below as a striking, if not unique, 

example of the truth that is stranger than fiction. 

The most remarkable, the most fascinating 
document to come out of the war has been 
obtained for publication in these columns — 
*' The Diary of a U-Boat Commander" Love, 
romance, drama, tragedy are woven through 
the narrative in sequences that might have been 
the product of a Victor Hugo's brain. Never 
more surely was proved the old epigram that 
" truth is stranger than fiction" 

How many more Prussian submarine com* 
wanders there are like Lieutenant-Commander 
Hans von Tuebinger, placed in charge of the 
r-13 just after the war began, is hard to say. 
Few, certainly. Xone, probably. 

His death — he committed suicide — was 
described in the Press despatches several weeks 
ago. By accident von Tuebinger had slain 
his sweetheart when he destroyed her father's 
schooner. The girl's brother was killed by one 
of the submarine's crew. During the summer 
the U-boat sank a Norwegian steamship in the 
North Sea, and ten of the vessel's complement 
were killed in the explosion. The day follow- 
ing von Tuebinger, cursing the Kaiser, von 
Tirpitz, and the war, jumped from his craft 
into the sea and was lost. " After the sub- 
marine returned to its base, the crew gathered 
together the belongings of their commander, 
including the diary he valued so highly, and 
smuggled them to a close friend in Copen- 

The work was so large and covered such a 
wide range of observations that in editing it for 
publication only its more generally interesting 
portions have been used. 

Copyright, 1917, by the New York 

March 5th, 1914. 

Not the least of the pleasures since my 
arrival at Stockholm has been the meeting 
with Sven Larsen, whom I knew in the 
gymnasium, quite by accident, while sipping 
coffee at the Opera Kaeliaren. He took me 
to his home, and I found his father, Lars 
Larsen, and mother and sister — I believe 
her name is Minna — most charming people. 
The father is an old sea-dog, but full of 
good-natured raillery. The daughter is very 
good-looking, reminding me of a Gretchen 
in some u Faust " production that I have 

Sven has studied a great deal since we left 
school, and speaks on all subjects with an 
air of authority. Our conversation was of 
beauty, inspired no doubt by the good looks 
of his sister. I asked her to play something 
for us on the piano. 

No coaxing was required. Merely saying 
that she would in return for her compliance 
look to an indulgent criticism for whatever 
shortcomings I would detect, she at once sat 
down and played. After several popular airs 
she played, at my further request, a con- 
siderable portion of Beethoven's " Moonlight 
Sonata," which always has been my favourite. 
Somehow, whenever I listen fo that wonderful 
world dream of sound, I feel as if the whole 
universe was passing in review before my 
imagination. While nothing definite is 
u spoken," yet there is a something in the 
sounds that conjures up a world vision with 
all the different thrills, passions, and emotions 

Herald Co.— All rights reserved 





which fill the human heart. The girl played 
well. I was enraptured. 

April 5tli v 1914. 

Can greater happiness be found than mine ? 
Minna loves me ! She told me so/to-day. For 
three weeks I had not been able to concentrate 
my thoughts sufficiently to enter anything in 
my diary. I stared at its blank pages with 
too chaotic a mind to eptrust any word to 
its keeping. The uncertainty concerning 
Minna's feelings toward me drove me almost 
frantic. Odd that I should not have realized 
that she regarded me with greater warmth of 
feeling than I dared hope. She showed me so 
many kind attentions and took so much 
interest in my art and in my projects and in 
everything I said-r-what a fool I was not to 
have taken courage long ago and asked her 
to be mine ! 

Minna, mine ! Dear Lord, do I deserve so 
great a boon ? Am I worthy of the love or 
so divine a gift as the heart of my Minna ? 

Jul? 20th, 1914. 

I interrupted my entry to see what the 
newsboys were calling out at so late an hour. 
Their " extra " relates to a threat of war. 
The paper would have its readers believe 
that'all Europe is likely to be embroiled in a 
war on account of Austria's grievance against 
Serbia. Such rot ! A European war could 
not last a week without bankrupting every 
nation, I shall go to sleep quite soundly 
without fear from such a source. 

If there should be a war — well, I am a 
naval reservist, and my all too brief experi- 
ence in submarine work will not have been 
wasted. Sven and I spoke of submarines this 
afternoon. He, too, has studied the subject. 
He thinks they will enter largely into the 
next war — if there is a war. We are thoroughly 
agreed on both branches of this hypothetical 

July 31rt, 1914. 

The " impossible " has been realized. War 
has virtually been. declared. I leave for Kiel 

Nothing appears to escape our Argus-eyed 
Government. Why order me to report at 
Kiel unless they knew of my penchant for 
submarine boats ? At any rate, I hope that, 
if there must be war, I shall be assigned to 
the U-boat branch of the sendee. 

Minna's parents — God bless them ! — said 
they did not believe the war could last more 
than a week or two at the utmost, and that 
when it is all over and I am back the marriage 
shall take place at once. 

Sven is not as optimistic about the war's 
duration. He is of the opinion that the 
economic rivalries • involved call for an all- 
round readjustment of " checks and balances/' 
and that this cannot be accomplished in less 
than at least six months or a year. 

Our friend Fritz Launig, my brothel: art- 
student from Munich, is even more pessimistic 
in his prediction of the war prospects, 

" Sven takes a too one-sided view," he said. 
" By the time the nations at war will have 
recognized the proper economic alignments, 
all the evil passions which escaped from the 
Pandora box will have come about our ears, 
.and there will be no peace possible for the 
world for years and years." 

September 30th, 1914. 

The second time at Kiel to take on fuel and 
supplies since I have been on U-13, and still 
no letter from Minna ! Can it be that my 
letter to her has miscarried ? But, even so, 
she knew that she could communicate with 
me through Kiel. It cannot be that she has 
put me out of her heart so soon. She is too 
loyal, too nobIe*hearted and magnanimous to 
allow another to take my place in her affection 
merely because I am out of her sight. And 
yet — who knows ? Oh, God, how this doubt 
torments me ! 

On August 24th we sank a British armed 
vessel of considerable size. Of one hundred 
aboard twenty-two were lost. By a freakish 
current of the sea, a cabin-boy clinging to a 
spar was swept close to us, and we took him 
aboard — a brave little lad of scarcely twelve 
years. He told me his father and three big 
brothers had gone with the British Expedi- 
tionary Army to France. " I was the only 
man left in the family," he said. The only 
" man ! " Poor child ! I asked him whether 
he was not sorry to have left his mother. 
He probably had not had time before to give 
any thought to the^uestion, for now that it 
was brought to his mind he burst into tears 
and sobbed out his desire to go back home. 
He told me he had run away without thinking 
that his mother and two sisters would miss 
him much. ." I wanted to be a sailor," he 

" If I send you home will you promise 
never to do anything again to hurt your 1 
mother's feelings ? " I asked. 

" Yes, sir/' he replied. " I'll promise to do J 

anything except -" The boy hesitated. 

" Well, except what ? " I asked. 

" Except, except — well, except that I . -ant 
to be allowed to fight those darned 
Germans 1 " 





I could not but laugh heartily, although, 
to tell the truth, it hurt me to think that our 
good name and fame had suffered so complete 
an eclipse that even children had come to 
hate and detest us. I suppose, however, that 
the little fellow had learned his lesson in 
hatred from the men of his ship 

I hailed a Norwejjjian freighter the same 
afternoon and transferred the youngster to 
her j obtaining the promise of the captain to 
land him in England, The captain said he 
would be glad to do so, as he was bound for 
London. The boy said his home was near 
Banbury, the town which is famous in nursery 
rhyme. I wonder whether he would spare at 
least one of t * the damned Germans ?I if X ever 
fall into his hands, 

I have just received notice that I am to 
have command of a larger submarine. Things 
are rather cramped aboard the 13, I shall 
have no regrets in making the exchange. 

October 15th, 1914, 

The three days just elapsed have been 
among the most memorable in my life. Not 
only is the U-34 much larger and more com- 
fortable than the wretched tub I have left, 
but the crew appears to be less brutal, and^ 

Digitized by Cj-GOgl 

above all. 1 have with mCj next in command,, 
my dear Frits Launig. Wonderful what 
pranks fate plays with us ! When I left 
Stockholm Friu had not yet received his 
summons to the Colours, kt If 1 receive a 
summpns 1 will ignore it," he said. He 
denounced the war as lf a revival of the 
savagery which is reaching out to plunder 
and destroy our toilfully built-up kultur, the 
one flower of civilization's scarce budding 
tree." Pacificism had no stauncher advocate 
than him. 

When 1 asked wliat had wrought the change 
in his mind he said, with characteristic 
naivet£ : Li My mind is not changed. I still 
believe the war is all wrong. But does a 
swallow make a summer ? Can one man shout 
his convictions loudly enough to be heard 
around the globe ? I felt that I was but one 
of many million cogs in the vast machinery 
called Fatherland. It is a bad and worse 
than useless cog that refuses to do its ' turn ' 
when the rest of the machinery is in motion. 
So here I am." 

October 13th was a busy day, I was 
charged with conveying to England a message 
of the utmost importance. It was a cipher, 
but although I was not entrusted with its 
exact meaning^ I know that it related to the 




question of a contemplated blockade of 
England. According to instructions, I de- 
livered the letter to the captain of a Swedish 
steamship which, I was informed, would be 
ten miles off Yarmouth. He, no doubt, had 
his instructions. 

As the letter had to be in this captain's 
hands by eight o'clock on the evening of 
October 13th, and I had but five hours to 
accomplish the task, my new boat had to 
give a good account of herself for speed, and 
she did. 

The last five miles of the trip will remain 
for ever impressed upon my memory. A 
British patrol-boat fired upon us, aiming 
apparently at the conning-tower, but missing 
by a scant forty yards. We submerged quickly 
and replied with a torpedo. It struck home, 
tearing through the side of the enemy amid- 
ships. The explosion must have wrought 
frightful havoc within the boat, for she sank 
within a few seconds. Only half-a-dozen of 
the crew appeared to have survived. I believe 
we fired the patrol-boat's ammunition maga- 
zine, for it is inconceivable that the charge 
itself could have torn apart the hulk so 
e Tectually. One of the life boats had broken 
loose from its davits, and was riding conveni- 
ently near the men in the water. In the 
circumstances, I did not deem it wise to delay, 
and so left them to their fate. 

October 18th, 1914. 

'Hie E-3 is our first English submarine 
trophy ! I was in the conning-tower shortly 
after our midday meal to-day, experimenting 
with my new magnetic disc for the periscope, 
when a speck appeared on the disc and moved 
slowly in an easterly direction. Under the 
magnifiers the speck resolved itself into a 
periscope. My location chart indicated that 
no other U-boat was expected anywhere near 
that neighbourhood at that time. The 
periscope was unquestionably that of an 

I shaped my course so that our starboard 
torpedo should be directly at right angles 
with the Britisher when she passed us/ 

The torpedoes were in place. I directed 
the aiming of the one in the starboard tube 
forward, and at the moment which I calcu- 
Jated to be the one when the Briton was 
passing a few hundred yards away, I pressed 
the control button and sent the torpedo to 
speed on her mission of death. 

The speck disappeared from the disc, and 
almost simultaneously with its disappearance 
we heard a muffled rumble, followed by a 
distinct jarring of our boat. We emerged to 

Digitized by v^OOglC 

the surface. The water was greatly .disturbed, 
but of the enemy submarine there was no 
trace. Several hundred yards away, however, 
something appeared to be floating on the 
water. The glasses showed me a shocking ' 
sight. The floating object was the frightfully 
mutilated body of a man. He was still living, 
but unconscious. We got him aboard, and 
Kaempfer administered anaesthetics. u He 
can't live," said the surgeon. " In fact, he 
hasn't enough left to make living worth while. 
I'll just keep him unconscious and free from 
pain until the end." 

The end came in less than half an hour. 
In a little waterproof bag suspended from a 
cord around the neck was an identification 
book. It gave the man's name as Edward 

Fenton, twenty-six years old, of , London, 

an oiler aboard H.M.S. E-3. 

The destruction of the submarine was a 
duty well performed, and for which, no doubt, 
I shall receive a distinction, perhaps an Iron 

My disc substitute for the old manner of 
periscope observation has fully vindicated 
its usefulness. No longer any need to stand 
for hours watching, with head bent back 
and eyes strained and concentrated upon 
the periscope " field." Now all I have to do 
is to sit in a comfortable chair and look into 
a camera obscura, on the bottom of which, 
level with the sea, is reproduced the picture 
of what is actually going on outside our boat. 
The part of the arrangement of which I am 
proudest is the magnetic disc, or revolving 
table, which, like the compass, always points 
true north. No matter how our U-boat is 
headed the picture on the disc is always 
exactly in its natural position, and shows 
exactly how objects outside our boat are 
placed in relation to the points of the compass. 
Distances, too, are indicated, as heretofore, 
by lines drawn across the face of the disc. 

The thought of the swift, . unforeseen 
destruction which came upon those luckless 
men of E-3 is made more sombre by my 
heart yearnings for Minna. Dear Minna, do 
you ever think of me now ? I have repro- 
duced your sweet countenance four times in 
paintings. But, alas ! what were even a 
Raphael's reproduction of your face comp* red 
with the reality which I am compelled to 
forego ? Do you pray for me night u ~ as 
fervently as I for you ? 

January 1st, 1915. 

Nothing short of a miracle saved us •! om 
destruction at the very threshold of the New 
Year. After having been all but run ^own 





by a British ship., it fell to our lot to destroy 
that floating fortress. 

It lacked a few minutes of three o'clock 
this morning when I relieved Fritz, who had 
been watching all night. I had been unable 
to sleep. Premonitions of some impending 
disaster — a disagreeable, apprehensive feeling 
which probably everybody has experienced 
now and then — kept me awake. Somehow I 
connected it with Minna, and could not shake 
off the fear that some 
calamity had befallen her. 
Even prayer, that sweet 
and almost always effec- 
tive panacea for ills not 
purely physical, failed tliis 
time to allay my anxiety,; , 

Fritz was worn out ? and 
gladly availed himself of 
my offer to let Iiim get to 
bed- He had scarcely left 
the tower when I heard , 
faintly at first, but rapidly 
growing more and more 
distinct, a sound not un- 
familiar to those who are 
at home in submarines — 
the whirring of the blades 
of the screw of a steam- 
ship. We were travelling 
slowly y barely four knots, 
submerged about fifteen 
feet. I quickly sheered 
off away from the direc- 
tion of the sound, and at 
the same time approached 
the surface close enough 
to use the periscope. 
Outlined distinctly on the 
disc I could see the vast 
hulij which had barely 
missed ramming our boat. 

Another instant and a 

drowned before those in the other boats had 
appeared to realize the peril of their comrades 
in the water. When the latter had been 
picked up the three boats were crowded, 
How many lives were lost by the capsizing 
of the barge I could not say. Many must 
also have perished in the explosion — hun- 
dreds, probably, I felt no such qualms of 
conscience this time as last October, when 
we sank an enemy submarine. Fritz also 

JT&. <ty*~jL t tfff> . 


torpedo t was launched , 
striking " our adversary 
amidships, midway * 

between the keel and the water-line. This 
was at precisely three o'clock; Within half 
an hour the fifteen- thou sand- ton fighting 
machine was resting on the bottom of the 

My camera obscura showed me the in- 
r]i.-M ribably chaotic scene during this exciting 
h.df-hour preceding the sinking of the vessel. 
Fritz had come back and, standing silently 
near inc., was also watching the remarkable 
picture on the disc. 

Of four boats which were lowered, one — a 
tur^e -capsized, and many of her men were 

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appeared to be elated and became more 
talkative, \ 

" Congratulations, Hans/' he said* " If 
you keep up this record of sinkings you will 
have to get a submarine trailer to hold all 
your medals/ 1 

<( Judged by merit, Fritz/' I said, M no 
number of Iron Crosses could ever be an 
adequate reward for you/' 

April lit, 1915. 

There is something exhilarating in this 
business of butcherw To send forth a torpedo 
Original from 




on its errand of death has become to me 
scarcely more than to hurl a ball over the 
course of a bowling alley. The toppling over 
of the pins when the ball strikes them is less 
exciting to me only in degree than the 
destruction of a warship and its crew. 

Since the blockade of Great Britain there 
has been no dearth of adventure. God knows 
I have need of excitement of some sort. 
Minna is in my thoughts constantly. Nothing 
except the hunt and chase and fight with 
these hostile boats can ease my mind. Fritz 
says it is fortunate I am not addicted to 
liquor, or I should be drunk all the time. 
Between battles and my beloved diary I 
manage to keep my thoughts off the one 
tormenting theme long enough to prevent 
me from becoming insane. 

July 20th, 1915. 

A big steamship from America passed 
within' less than a thousand yards of us at* 
half-past five o'clock this morning, sixty miles 
south of the Irish coast. Evidently our 
periscope was not seen by her, as she kept on 
the even tenor of her way without any apparent 
excitement aboard. 

Less than an hour after the vessel had 
passed out of our sight an English patrol-boat 
came along. She was beyond the range of 
our torpedoes and was taking a course which 
would carry her still farther away unless ^we 
sheered off in her direction. To do this 
would have been too dangerous, as the -part 
of the Channel toward which the patrol was 
headed literally swarmed with warships, and 
besides was 'sown with mines. • 

I have learned to respect Fritz Launig's 
advice to such an extent that I never take any 
decisive step of importance to the U-boat 
without consulting him. I sent for him and 
laid the situation before him. 

" By all means let us rise to the surface and 
give the Britisher a taste of our five-inch gun," 
said Fritz. " We can submerge within less 
than half a minute and, after changing our 
position, rise again, and if we have not done 
sufficient execution by the first shot, we can 
give them another shell and dive again before 
they can get our range. ,, 

Scarcely had our conning-tower appeared 
above the surface than the patrol banged at 
us with her quick-fire guns. In this respect 
the Britishers had the advantage over us, for 
we could not begin to operate our gun until 
we were awash with the deck. Besides, they 
had the longer range. Still, we were suffici- 
ently close to them — about five thousand 
yards — to make our shot as effective as if fired 

at point-blank. And, moreover, we had a 
gunner aboard, Julius Halbert, who boasted 
that he had never yet missed his mark and 
who was, so to speak, a genius in regard to 

The shells of the enemy were tailing within 
from two hundred to as near as fifty yards of 
us, when our gun roared back her reply. The . 
shell landed amidships and must have raised 
the- devil in the patrol's engine-room. We 
did not wait to watch developments. After 
submerging, the imagery on the periscope 
disc disclosed the result of Halbert's aim. A 
gap larger than a porthole had been torn in 
the side of the vessel, and the havoc produced 
inside load thrown even the well-disciplined 
crew into no little confusion. 

Owing to the damage to the patrols' 
machinery we managed in a short while by 
dead reckoning, as we dared not show our 
periscope above water, to get from her star- 
board to her port side, at about the same 
distance as before. Then, rising again, we 
landed another shell on her water-line, and 
once more dived before her gunners could 
get our range, although they did plant some 
of their shells confoundedly close to us. 

" Now," said Fritz, " I suppose, Hans, you 
are going to give them the torpedo cure ? " 

Again working by dead reckoning, we got 
to within two thousand yards, although the 
effective range of our torpedoes was more 
than three thousand yards, and came to the 
surface close enough to barely project the top _■ 
% of the periscope. Only for a moment, how- 
ever, for those fellows aboard the patroUboat 
were certainly alert and began popping at us 
the very instant the periscope was seen by 
them. They missed by a close margin and 
afforded me enough time to telescope in the 
periscope at the same instant that I fired the 

When we had shifted our position to an 
entirely new point of the compass I ventured 
up with the periscope again. This time there 
was no attempt to fire at us. The guns of the 
patrol were for ever silent. She had been hit 
squarely below the water-line almost amid- 
ships and was listing over toward us at a 
perilous angle. The crew was getting into 
the life-boats, some of which were already 
headed in the direction of land. 

I went about to set the air apparatus a-going 
to expel the water ballast, in order to rise to 
the surface, when there appeared on the disc 
a streak of black smoke low on the horizon 
north-east. A wait of several minute was 
rewarded by the sight of two destroyer, and 
a cruiser hurrying in our direction The 




wireless calls from the sinking patrol were 
being answered. It would have been worse 
than foolhardy to try. conclusions with so 
many ships at one time. So we remained 
below, and travelled toward Heligoland, I 
was desirous of reaching our base again, 

March 30th, 1916. 

I dreanjed of Minna last night. With all 
my daily thinking about her and all my prayers 
in her behalf this has been the first time I ever 
dreamed of her. It was a confused sort of 
dream and I could recall but little of it — 
nothing in detail — when I woke up. It 
seemed, though, to be of evil import, and has 
left a heavy feeling in my heart. 

On the twenty-seventh of this month we 
sank three merchant steamships and two 
barques. No lives were lost — at least none by 
reason of torpedoes or shell-fire. The sea was 
calm, and I believe that the crews reached 
land in safety. The following day we also 
sank a steamship — a Norwegian — which was 
carrying meat from Argentina to England, 
We had given warning by firing a shot across 
her bow, but she ignored it. Another shell 
carried away her wireless apparatus — Halbert 
is still infallible in his marksmanship. The 
Norwegian stopped and her crew got away in 
life-boats. Three bombs sent aboard finished 
her in half an hour. Of her crew of thirty, 
two had been killed by falling fragments from 
the masthead and two more were drowned 
by the capsizing of one of the boats. We 
aided in righting and bailing out the boat, 
and, as the distance from the Irish coast was 
one hundred and ninety-five miles, we re- 
plenished their food and water supply, which 
had been lost in the overturning of the 
little craft. 

One of the crew, a little fellow with a sallow 
complexion and dark hair and who looked 
more like a Spaniard than a Scandinavian, 
said something which sounded like a curse 
just as the boat he was in pushed off from 
our side. 

" He is wishing the Kaiser to hell," said 
Eglau, who was nearest him. 

" If you will allow me," said Halbert, 
taking a firmer grip on his automatic pistol, 
"' I will send this fellow on his way to hell to 
announce there that His Majesty our Kaiser 
refuses to go." 

The man's grim humour was meant in all 
seriousness. It would have given Halbert 
infinite pleasure to riddle the offender's body 
with bullets. 

" How do you know he spoke disrespectfully 
of His Majesty ? " I asked. 

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" I heard him," replied Halbert. " I know 

The life-boat by this time had got more 
than fifty yards away from us. 

" You might hit somebody else at so great 
a distance/' I said. I did not want to appear 
to be indifferent to so gross an insult to our 
-ruler, and yet I disliked the idea of taking a 
man's life for a hastily, perhaps thoughtlessly, 
uttered word. 

April 2nd, 1916. 

Again I dreamed of Minna. It was the 
same dream as before. And this time I am 
able to recall both dreams. I saw Minna in 
the company of her father and Sven. Mrs. 
Larsen, Minna's mother, appeared to be at a 
great distance and was beckoning Minna to 
come to her. Minna's arms were outstretched 
toward me. But when I started to go to her 
a terrific explosion took place and after the 
smoke of it had cleared away Minna was 
standing beside her mother and was wafting 
kisses to me and her father and Sven. 

" If there is any meaning at all to the 
dream," said Fritz, when I told him about it, 
" it is that you will soon meet Fraulein 

Notwithstanding the reassuring nature ot 
his interpretation of my dreams they have 
left a profoundly disquieting effect upon me. 
I cannot get rid of the feeling that they either 
portend a disaster of some sort to Minna or 
have reference to one that has already 

April 5th 1916. 

We sank another English steamship this 
afternoon and have kept as prisoner her 
commander. He had made the initial attack 
without waiting for any demonstration from 
us, I can hardly blame the man for trying 
to sink a craft which he must have known 
would do its utmost to sink his vessel if it 
got the chance. But, whatever my personal 
feelings may be, I have no right to suspend 
the regulation which will probably cost this 
poor Britisher his life when I turn him over 
to the authorities at home. I feel doubly 
sorry for him, as he has shown himself to be 
as fine a gentleman as I ever met anywhere. 
I am rapidly becoming a nervous wreck. 

The fight with the Englishman was one of 
the most tensely exciting we have had. We 
saw the vessel when she was five miles away. 
Evidently she did not perceive us until she 
had come to within a mile. Then she swung 
round — made as if to escape and began firing. 
Half-a-dozen shells were discharged, all falling 
short or striking the water on the other side 




of us. - They had two rapid-fire guns of good 
calibre and the range was close enough to have 
put us out of commission or sink us with a 
well-directed shot. Fortunately, the only 
damage we received was from one shell, which 
glanced off our deck aft, leaving an ugly dent, 
Bat not of a serious nature. 

Halbert's marksmanship made short work 
of the enemy. The first shot, as nearly always, 
brought the wireless arrangement to the deck. 
The second one crashed through the side of 
the vessel and destroyed her machinery. 

Never before had any merchantman attacked 
* by us fought so pertinaciously after being so 
completely crippled. A third shell sent the 
w^ter pouring through a gap on the water- 
line amidships. The reason Halbert always 
seeks this vital spot is to cause a list which 
will quickly make the guns aboard the stricken 
vessel inoperative. It was only when the list 
became so pronounced that the guns could no 
longer be used that the life-boats were lowered. 

The captain was the last one to leave the 
doomed vessel. There were tears in his eyes 
when his life-boat drew alongside our sub- 
marine. They were tears of sorrow for the 
loss of so fine a steamship. I told him that 
I regretted that it was not in my power rather 
to reward than to imprison him for the 
splendid fight he had made. 

April 6th, 1916. 

I have killed the dearest on earth. I am 
Minna's murderer. Forgive me, God ! Oh 

October 10th, 1916. 

• A long gap from that tragic day to this ! I 
did not believe it possible that I should live 
so long. Fritz says he found me lying on the 
floor, the sentence in my diary unfinished, and 
that for three days I was in a high fever, a 
raving maniac. I have not been sufficiently 
master of my feelings until this day to make 
any record of that frightful day's events. 

In the afternoon of the sixth of April I saw 
a Swedish schooner, heavily laden, beating 
before the wind in the direction of the English 
roast, A shot fired by Halbert carried away 
her mizzen-mast, which crashed and splintered 
to the deck and thence overboard. The fall 
of the mast caused such havoc that it quickly 
became apparent that the vessel was sinking. 
A boat put off in time to avoid being caught 
by the suction of the pool as the schooner went 
down. When the life-boat drew alongside 
our submarine I was amazed to see in it 
Mr, Larsen, my Minna's father, and her 
brother Sven. Although I felt grieved to 
think that this meeting had to be brought 

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about at so heavy a cost to Mr. Larsen, for I 
jumped at the conclusion that the schooner 
must have belonged to him, nevertheless there 
was an element of happiness, because I felt that 
now at last I should obtain news about my 

11 Where is Minna ? " I shouted over when 
the boat was still more than two hundred 
yards away. - ■ 

" There/' said Captain Larsen, pointing to 
the spot where the Bqldar, his schooner, had 
gone down. « 

I did not fully realize the awful inport of 
his word and believed that it was meant in a 
figurative sense, such as that the girl had loved 
the vessel and would feel heartsore over the 
loss. But when the life-boat fcarae alongside 
and the real magnitude of the catastrophe 
became clear to me I felt my knees give way 
under me, and would have fallen had not 
Halbert and another of the crew'su^pported me. 
A large splinter from the falling mast had 
struck Minna just as she was coming to the 
deck from her cabin. It killed her outright 
and her body was pinned beneath some of the 
wreckage. Both Captain Larsen and Sven 
were certain that nothing could be done for 
her; and as the vessel was sinking rapidly 
and there was not a moment to spare, the 
life-boat was lowered and my Minna's mortal 
remains were relinquished, to be carried down 
to the bottom of the sea. 

I got myself together as well as I could, and 
in my cabin Sven and his father told me what 
had occurred from the time I left Stockholm. 

" If you had only written ! " said Sven. 
11 We received but one letter from you, and 
after that — silence." 

" Heavens, man ! " I exclaimed, " I wrote 
a score of letters begging for some token from 
any of you." 

" Hans has been doing nothing but writing 
to Minna, or of Minna, or been painting her 
portrait," broke in Fritz, who had also been 
a familiar friend of the family, and whose 
respect and admiration for Minna were second 
only to my own. 

" Well, we never received any letter after 
the one in which you announced that although 
you were going into the U-boat service you 
expected to be back in Stockholm before long/' 
said Captain Larsen. 

" Who could ever have thought that this 
cursed war would drag along to such a God- 
forsaken length ? " I said. 

" Well," said Captain Larsen, " Minna tried 
to bear the separation from you bravely, but 
pined away gradually. She did not ,complain. 
and after a while she even ceased to talk much 




about yoUj because she knew that we believed 
you had simply dismissed her from your mind, 
and she could not bear the thought of hearing 
anybody say an ill word about you. 

" Last December my wife died. And this, 
added to the other heart anguishj threatened 
to break down my poor girl altogether. With 
hollow eyes and sunken cheeks she looked like 
one who had undergone a long siege of severe 
illness. I had purchased the controlling 
interest in a schooner, the Baldar — the one 
you have just sunk — and decided to take 
Minna on my cruises. Sven acted as my mate, 

" We w T ere coming from the West Coast of 
Africa, laden with a general cargo for England. 
Three months of life at sea had brought the 

phases of the dream bore to the reality *which 
was to come.'* 

After hours of conversation, in which we 
tried to console one another for the loss which 
meant so much to us allj we filled the life-boat 
with all needed supplies, and Captain Larsen, 
Sven j and the rest of the hapless Baldar" 1 s 
crew pulled away from the submarine, bound 
toward the English coast. 

I went back to my cabin to enter into the 
diary the agonizing events of the day, but had 
written only a few lines when a mist came 
before my eyes, and then obiivion. Fritz - 
and Kaempfer were at my bedside when I 
opened my eyes again, Three days had 
passed, and if I had not recovered conscious. 



roses back to Minna's cheeks and she was 
beginning to look again like her own beautiful 
self, just as when you first saw her- Joy 
seemed to be getting ready to return to us 
when — such are the uncertainties of life !— 
you crossed our path and blasted my happiness 
for ever /' 

When Larsen said that his wife had died it 
recalled to my mind the peculiar part she had 
played in my dreams, I told him about my 
seeing her standing afar off and beckoning to 
Minna to join her, and that, after an explosion 
I saw Minna by her mother's side, wafting 
kisses at us. 

il It was undoubtedly a dream of the pro- 
phetic kind/' said Fritz, " and although we 
were not skilful in interpreting it at the time, 
it is very plain now what relevancy the various 

Vq1 p Iv.-H. 

by Google 

ness when I did, Fritz said, they had arranged 
that he was to take the boat back to base to 
afford me an opportunity for more adequate 
nursing than " two such helpless male bears 
as Kaempfer and I could bestow upon you/' 
he said. God bless their noble hearts ! 

April 12th, 1917. 

Would to God my vocabulary contained 
nothing but curses ! What is the world 
become to me but a hell ? First Minna, and 
now her brother , my poor good friend Sven, 
and ten of his crew I I have come to hate the 
name of the Kaiser, and of Tirpitz, and that 
whole damned band of war hellions* Duty, 
duty, nothing but duty ! Not a word about 
humanity ! Killing, torpedoing, blowing up 
with shells and bombs— murdering, day in 

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and day out, all the year around ! God, how 
tired I am of it all ? And for what ? Just 
because one rulfer doesn't want to give in to 
another ruler. • 

/ say — God's curse rest upon all of them I If 
I must kill I'll kill like a tiger. I'll torpedo 
everything that comes my way. They are all 
bound for hell, anyway. So Vll do my duty 
with a vengeance and with true Prussian 

May 25th 9 1917. 

' I must have been insane when I wrote the 
foregoing entry. I had no recollection at' all 
of having written it, and this is the first time 
since that day that I have opened my diary. 
•No wonder, though, that I was so immoderate 
and incoherent in my expression. I had just 
sunk the steamship Ada, en route from Gothen- 
burg to Hull, killing ten of her crew, and was 
thereby indirectly responsible also for the 
death of poor Sven. 

Sven and Captain Larsen were officers 
aboard the Ada. After the sinking, when their 
life-boat came alongside of us, Sven, driven 
insane 1)y the murders which I had been 
instrumental in bringing about, sprang at me 
and was about to clutch me by the throat, when 
Halbert, who had become greatly attached 
to me, struck him on the head with the butt 
of a pistol* Sven dropped and toppled off 
into the sea. I leaped after him, but he must 
have sunk to a great depth and been drowned, 
without having recovered consciousness. We 
searohed long, but found no trace of the poor 

His unfortunate father, deprived of wife, 
daughter, and son, in one way or another, 
through me, made no reproaches. His heart 
was too heavy. He retained his se^t in the 
Lfe-boat, just shaking his head listlessly, as if 
he but partly understood the import of the 
final misfortune which had befallen him. For 
a long time I looked after the receding boat, 
and to the last, when even through the glasses 
I could scarcely distinguish him any more, I 
could see his head still bobbing to and fro. 

If it were not for Fritz I surely should have 
become insane long ago. 

My only surcease from grief nowadays is 
derived from sitting in front of the pictures 
of my Minna, all of which are draped in 
mourning, and composing verses addressed 
to her. How fortunate that I was able to 
paint her in so lifelike a manner I 

July 12th, 1917. 

Eighty miles west of Black Rock, off the 
coast of Ireland, we sank the American barque 
• at ten o'clock this morning. Never was 

the sinking qf a vessel more distasteful to me, 
partly in deference to the memory of poor 
Kreisel, who gave up his life lest he be com- 
pelled to take part in the destruction of 
American vessels. 

Arnold Wimborn, whom I had met at 
Captain Larsen's house in Stockholm, was 

aboard the . He had been picked up by 

the latter several hours earlier. His schooner 

had been sunk by a submarine. The , 

bound from Glasgow to Hampton Roads, 
rescued him and his crew. 

When Wimborn was coming alongside my 
craft, in the boat of the^ — — , he exclaimed, 
chaffing me good-naturedly, as soon as he 
recognized me, "Some day you will sink a 
schooner and will discover that it belongs to 
Larsen and has your Minna aboard." 

I showed him the pictures of Minna in my 
cabin, and when he saw the crfipe around 
them he was spellbound and speechless. 
" But not through you ! " he exclaimed, 
drawing away, as if in horror from me, as 
though I were infected -with the pest. 

I told him all that had happened and how 
I was suffering. He was very sympathetic, 
and assured me that he knew that I would 
have given my life rather than injure Minna. 
" But/' he said, " you are engaged in a 
damnably questionable business." 

" What can I do ? " I replied. " I have to 
perform my duty. Duty, duty; oh, this 
murderous, damned, unspeakable duty." 

* Here the diary of Hans von Tuebinger ends 

^ What occurred after this final entry ; how 
his intellect, becoming dethroned, drpve him 
at last to such mad excesses in*the pursuit of 
"doty " as to sink every vessel which crossed 
his path, was told in the newspapers recently 
in an account by John Rrano, a seaman, who 
was a survivor of the Norwegian steamship 
Falkland, torpedoed in the North Sea, with 
the loss of ten lives. The story, as told by 
Pirano, was as foltows : — 

" The Falkland was carrying a cargo from 
Philadelphia, and everything was going along 
smoothly until we were in the North Sea, about 
one hundred and fifty miles off the north-east 
coast of England, when a U-boat came to the 
surface and started in to fire at us without 
any preliminaries. The first shot tore away 
our wireless. Another smashed into the 
engine-room, killing half-a-dozen men. 

" The shells were coming so fast that we 
didn't wait any longer, but just piled into the 
life-boats and got away as quickly as we could. 
We were not a bit too soon, for the vessel sank 

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u I I I ■_' I I I 




a few minutes after we had cut loose from her. 
All told, ten men perished with her. 

" The captain of the U-boat made us come 
alongside after our vessel was gone, I never 
saw a man act more queerly. He looked as if 
he felt sorry for us, and then became excited 
and angry and ordered us to get out of his 


sight. We were in mortal dread of the man 
and didn't know just what to do. We were 
between the devil and the deep sea, for we made 
up our minds that no matter whether we 
stayed or rowed away he would find some 
cause of quarrel and have us shot, 

11 We thought he meant soane vessel named 
Minna, but the way he pronounced the name 
and the awfully sad expression that came 
into his eyes soon convinced me that lie must 
have meant a woman of that name with whom 
he was crazy in love. I couldn't help laughing, 

although it was no laughing matter for him, 
and none for us either, when you consider the 
pickle we were in* 

11 I guess our captain must have thought 
that, so long as we were bound to offend the 
U-boat commander no matter what we did, 
the beat thing would be to get as far from him 
as possible, and so we rowed away. We had 
gone about Iialf a mile when we saw him 
waving his arms about his head and Tunning 
up and down on the defck. 

* We better go back/ said the second 
mate to the captain. £ I think he's kind o 1 
put out because we rowed 
away without asking him. 5 

" We went back a good 
deal faster than we liad gone 
awa y> and when we were near 
enough to hear his voice I 
heard him say, * Fm tired 
of this butchery business* 
I've killed my Minna ; I've 
killed her brother ; I've 
killed too many already. 
Not another life will I take 
—except my own. Damn 
Von Tirpitz ! Damn the 
Kaiser ! They've driven me 
out of my mind ! " 

i( Although- 1 am of Italian 
descent and was born in New 
York, I spent many years 
in Bremen and picked up a 
good working knowledge of 
German, So I understood 
everything the poor fellow 
said. His men listened to 
him as if they had been 
turned into stone- What he 
said must have been worse 
than blasphemy to them ; 
but even so, they didn't do 
anything to stop them. 

14 Well , sir, the first thing 
we knew that poor devil 
jumped into the water, and 
that was the end of him. 
Before he went he let out one despairing cry 
of ' Minna ! 3 and I can telt you I haven't been 
able to get it out of my ears from that day 
to this. 

" 'Irie U-boat then submerged and we were 
left to our fate/* Pirano said. lt After two 
days adrift we were picked up by a British 
patrol-boat and landed in England." 

One of the crew of Hans von Tuebinger's 
U-boat obtained possession of the dead com- 
mander's diary and smuggled it to a friend in 
Copenhagen, whence it was taken to New York 
Original from 

' MINNA I J n 






Illustrated by Baljiol Salmon. 


Here is a question for the reader to decide : " Was Sir Rufus right ? " 

HE thing that counts, Grey- 
marsh/ * said the barrister, " is 
the act. It is not the per- 
suasive causes. You must grant 
a distinction to lie here. Deeds 
in themselves fine and noble 
may emerge from questionable 

It was a night of early autumn. There was a 
dril i of yellow fog over London, pressed down as 
by an invisible hand into the nooks and corners 
of the city. It was not yet dense ; the pressure of 
the hand was only beginning to be felt. The 
city was in a sort of saffron twilight, but it was 
a twilight that would presently deepen. The 
noises of the city were confused and softened as 
though it were a creature, covertly moving in 
some fear. London seemed overtaken by one of 
the mysterious visitations out of a Hebrew myth. 

In the yellow haze two men were passing along 
Regent Street. The shutters of the shops were 
closed up as though the city were abandoned. 
Few persons passed, and these were not clearly 
to be distinguished. 

The two men in the circles where they moved 
were the most remarkable in the whole of 
London — Sir Rufus Simon and Mr. Greymarsh. 
Where the great currents of the world ran, 
Mr. Greymarsh was undistinguished. But on the 
frontiers of human knowledge, where the mind 
struggled for the truth, the chemist's name stood 
for high achievement. Perhaps his greatest fame 
was an unfailing accuracy. When one quoted 
Greymarsh in his book, theVe was an end of 
contention on the point. 

The companion was Sir Rufus Simon, the 
barrister. It would be idle here to catalogue the 
man. He possessed a reputation unequalled in 
the whole of England ; he stood for the highest 
integrity and the nicest honour. He belonged to 
a profession given to extremes, great figures in 
advance of all human progress and the lowest 
trickster. And because the ground-floor of his 
craft nested so much vermin it may have seemed 
to Sir Rufus Simon a pressing reason why those 
who occupied its top floor should maintain the 
very highest ideals by which a man could live. 

by LiOOglC 

The dialogue running between the two men 
was upon a point where each, in his sphere of 
influence, stood above suspicion. The chemist 
seemed to reflect on what the barrister had said, 
but he answered with decision. 

" A lie is an error, Sir Rufus, and once you 
have admitted that there can no longer be an 
argument. One cannot compound his calcula- 
tions with an error. To admit that a true 
resultant can be obtained s by the introduction of 
an error is to topple over all human knowledge. 
There can never be any gain from a lie, for the 
reason, Sir Rufus, that there can never be any 
gain from an error." 

The barrister put up his hand to his lean, 
bony face. He gathered his jaw for a moment 
into his fingers. 

" I indict science," he said, " for a prime 
postulate essentially false to the facts. The 
accuracy which it assumes in Nature is imaginary. 
The universe presents nothing to equal the 
assumed exactness of your mathematical sciences. 
No track of a star is a perfect geometrical figure, 
nor does the earth turn on its axis to an unvaried 

He put liis hand out as with an unconscious 

" Greymarsh," he said, " truth is something 
more than this preciseness. I think that it will 
be nearer the integrity of what is called a status 
in the law. Shall I dispossess a child of faith 
in the nobility of his parent for the merit to 
myself of a verbal accuracy ? And shall I not 
help a crippled human creature to his feet with 
the device of a suggestio falsi if it is the only 
crutch that he can get his broken shoulder over ? " 

Again, for a dozen steps, the man, was silent. 
Then he continued : — 

" After reflection," he said, " I insist 
upon the distinction which I have indicated. 
The morality lies with the effect and not with 
the persuasive causes that precede it. I go 
farther, Greymarsh, I go even far enough to 
believe that the persuasive causes may be false 
and scandalous, and the result sound and moral." 

He shifted his walking-stick into the free 
gesticulating hand. 

Original from 




" I have got that conclusion, Greymarsh, as 
you have got- your synthetic formulas, by experi- 
ments in life. Human relations go on by virtue 
of a sort of compromise with the truth. In the 
chemistry of human affa ; rs we do not discard 
the impurities in a salt ; we sometimes assemble 
them and blend them when we would have a 
result of a greater virtue than refined elements 
could give u?.' . . . I cannot hope to make you 
see that. It would require the example of a 
human clinic." 

The chemist's face, lifted in the thin fog, was 
set in its expression and unmoving. This was 
palpable heresy to him. It was letting error hi 
where the negation of error was the prime intent. 
If one admitted a lie could work out a material 
gain, one admitted that an error might some- 
times in a calculation be depended on lor a true 
result. To him the thing was inconceivable. 
And he dismissed it as one of those strange con- 
ceptions of morality which he bad sometimes 
observed to lurk about the mental activities of 
men otherwise of unquestioned * honour. The 
arguments lying to his hand seemed to the 
chemist endless and unanswerable, but he made 
no further effort to present them. 

The two men in the conversation had traversed 
the great arc of Regent Circus and had now come 
to a short street beyond it. It was a lane of 
sombre, unpretentious houses ; a residency given 
over to j rofessionists. Great surgeons and 
practitioners were housed along this street, but 
the famous name was not on the door of any 
one of them. They counted on reputations in 
advance of that^ They assumed that one seeking 
the aid of the greatest authorities in London 
would not require the indications of a signboard. 
The two men stopped before the door of one 
of these undistinguished houses. 

The chemist concluded his argument upon the 
point with a final sentence : — 

" I should require to be shown the result of 
your experiment, Sir Rufus." 

Then he turned to the usual conventionalities 
of discourse. 

" The Dutch explorer- Maartins has just sent 
me some dried elephant flesh poisoned by the 
Batwa pygmies of the Congo. It is thought to 
contain an obscure element that the Amsterdam 
chemists are not quite sure of. I shall probably 
have the formula in an hour* Come in as you 

The barrister promised to come in. He went 
to explain the draft of a charter for an East 
India Trading Company. It was for Danvers 
Buller, an old client and an old friend. Sir 
Rufus would not have gone out in London, at 
this hour, on the affairs of any other living man. 
But Danvers Buller was now paralytic and it 
was the^call of friendship behind the business 
that took the barrister to his house. 

The chemist let himself in. It was his custom 
when at work on some problem of peculiar 
interest to send away the servants to their 
quarters and to go about the house alone. He 
had given this order for to-night. He had dined 
at the club in St. James's Place, and going out 
had found Sir Rufus Simon. The barrister's 

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way lay through Regent Street and the two had 
come up together. 

The house seemed severe and empty when one 
entered. It lacked the things that give harmony 
and blend to the human habitation. There was 
a gas-jet burning low in the hall ; on the right 
hand a drawing-room, and beyond that, for the 
door stood open, there was a room that the 
architect had designed for a library. It was now 
a sort of laboratory instead. The word in its 
popular 'conception is not accurate. It was a 
room into which the chemist carried only the 
last problem in his undertakings. There were 
technical books lying on a table. It was a long, 
heavy table running across the room before the 
door. Its surface was clean, but it was stained 
and finger-marked. There were some bottles 
under a green cloth. There was a chair or two, 
and there were some prints on the wall. But if 
one noticed these prints closely one observed that 
they had not been selected for their beauty, but 
on account of extreme accuracy in the drawing, 
as though the object of all art was to represent 
the varieties of Nature in precise detail. 

Perhaps there was a little pretension, after all 
is said, in the aspect of this room. The larger 
pretension of a great authority who discards the 
ostentations of the men below him, like that 
which displayed no name on the tow of profes- 
sional houses along the street ; like the preten- 
sion of the expert at St. Andrews who would 
play the course with a mid-iron against the 
armful of clubs crowded into the bag of the 
distinguished amateur. 

And yet this conclusion may be set down in 

Greymarsh was detacher from the world. 
Where he touched it at his club, or with his 
friends, like Sir Rufus Simon, there was no 
actual contact. He looked out through a window. 
He spoke and listened and had intercourse 
among his fellows; but he sat within, and, for 
the most part, the shutters of the window were 
closed up like a sleeping eye. 

The chemist turned back the bolt to the door. 
The servants had gone, and when the man got 
into the profundities of science external noises 
did not always reach him. He was not certain 
that he would hear the bell, and he left the door 
so that Sir Rufus could enter when he came. 
It was a habit that the barrister was aware of, 
and, out of the wisdom of a larger experience 
of life, he had suggested the danger of leaving 
the door thus open to any hand. But the chemist 
felt' that he had little that a robber could sell 
profitably in the market ; and, besides, he pos- 
sessed that disregard of human precautions 
peculiar to those persons removed in their activi- 
ties from the world of living men. 

Mr. Greymarsh went from the hall into the 
drawing-room. This was now the library of the 
house. There were shelves of books and a 
secretaire of some inlaid wood. There was a 
clean blotter, a sheaf of pens, and a pot of ink, 
neatly arranged. But it was not a workshop in 
which the man laboured with his problems. He 
went on through the open door into the room 
beyond. He switched on the light over his long 




table and sat down behind 
it, facing the door through 
which lie had entered. He 
took up some sheets of 
paper written closely, in a • 
fine, delicate hand, and be- - 
gan to make a calculation. 
The calculation was hiero- 
glyphic to the common eye* 
It concluded some drawings 
as of outlandish geometric 
figures or the meander! rigs 
of a family tree. 

As the man laboured he 
became oblivious to the 
world about him. His con- 
sciousness seemed to with- 
draw from the appreciation 
of external stimuli. To the 
world, Greymarsh in Ms 
labour was little better than 
a dead man. Some time 
passed. There was silence 
except for the remote, muffled 
noises of \he city. The 
chemist, concentrated on his 
formulas, was like the figure 
of a man in something in- 
organic, except for the slight 
moving of his hand that 
recorded his indicatory 

Then somewhere in the 
deeps of the house a bell 
jangled. The chemist did 
not hear it* After a moment 
or two it broke out in a 
louder clatter. But its call 
was not regarded by the 
man. Then the door opened. 
Someone entered, peered into, 
the drawing-room, and finally 
advanced to the door before 
which Mr. Grey marsh sat 
stooped over his table. 

The chemist was never 
able to say precisely what 
caused him to look up. Per- 
haps it was the cumulative 
pressure of the noises, or the 
unusual interjection of a 
human voice. But when he 
did look, he got on his feet 
in some confusion. 

There was a woman standing in the door as 
though posed in the dark wood o! a frame, She 
was in evening dress with an opera-coat of rich 
brocade covering her shoulders. The chemist stood 
like one not entirely awakened until the woman 
Spoke. There was something foreign in the voice. 

" Is it Mr. Grey marsh/ ' she said, " that I 
have the honour to address ? JJ 

The chemist replied with the usual con- 
ventions, and came round the end of his table 
as though he would show her to the drawing- 
room, But the woman entered and sat down 
hi a chair before his table, and he went back 
uncertain and embarrassed. 


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Nor was Grey marsh's visitor entirely at her 
ease. She began an explanation, hurried, and 
not at all points connected up. 

"I am Mrs, Dan vers B idler/* she said. r * I 
have come to consult you on — on a professional 

Then she broke the explanation with a com- 
ment on her ingress to the house, 

f Your door was open/' she said, " and I 
saw the light." 

It was clear fmm this explanatory preface 
that the woman had come on no idle errand. 
There was the pressure of a determined intent 
behind this visit. The chemist was profoundly 

Original from 




puzzled. The name of Dan vers Duller awoke 
faint memories about the man. 

There had been notoriety in his later life. , 
He had married in advancing age some South 
Eastern beauty, The thing had been a day's 
sensation in the London Press when he came 
up through the Suez with his bride. There 
had been much comment on the beauty of Mrs. 
Buller and silence on every other point. 

Grey marsh realized, in a sort of wonder, 
that the published comments were not over- 
drawn, She had masses of dark hair banked 
around a face perfect in contour. One never 
could wish to change a line of it. Her eyes 
were large and violet like a tropic flower, and 
her throat, her bare shoulders, and her arms 

by Google 

were exquisite. But there was 
something behind these assem- 
bled allurements that held one 
back from admiration, as with 
the pressure of a hand. The 
woman had a disquieting smile, 
and in spite of perfection in 
every feature one felt a sense 
of vague deformity. The im- 
pression entangled itself in the 
confused sensations of Mr. Grey- 
marsh. He caught himself 
searching the woman with some 
eagerness to find the malforma- 
tion. But in all the aspect of 
her there was no defect that 
the human eye could see. She 
was absolutely perfect* One 
felt that every contour of her 
ran with a faultless symmetry. 
Her hair, the planes of her face, 
her eyebrows, the nose, the 
alluring mouth — with its teeth 
even and perfect — and the 
violet eyes were all incon- 
\uivably faultless* And yet 
there was the haunting sense 
of something misshapen that 
introduced itself and prevailed 
over the admiration that sprang 
up in the beholder. 
The chemist was about to 
suggest that she had perhaps confounded him 
with one of the eminent practitioners living 
in the street, but the woman was before him 
with her words. 

1 cattie in to consult you, Mr. Greymarsh/' 
she said. ' I am told you are the greatest 
authority in London." 

I ;mi distinguished by the compliment, 
madam/' said the chemist, with some gravity 
n his wot tls, " but I am not a practitioner in 
any pmfr^ional sense." 

,J But you are the greatest authority in 
London," the woman repeated, 4C and the 
thing is important," 

The chemist felt that he ought to make the 
matter clear* ^ 

" I think you have a mistaken impression, 
madam/' he said. " I do not see persons in 
any professional capacity/' 

The woman presented to him a face dis- 
turbed with anxiety. 

11 But you will not refuse me your aid on 
that account ? " she said. " I cannot go to 
one whose knowledge may be inadequate. I 
must have the opinion of the ablest authority 
in London. ... I will pay you any fee you 

The chemist undertook to explain that his 
services were not of a professional order. But 
the woman was insistent. She wished only 
to ask a single question, and he found himself 
embarrassed to deny her. He sat down before 
her at the table, He wondered what matter 
of vital interest could so concern this woman 
that she came thus alone at midnight and per- 
sistently forced her way into his house. 

Original from 



But the explanation was a blow at this tragic 
inference. And it confirmed the chemist in 
his estimate of the utter frivolity of the fashion- 
able London circle to which persons of this class 

The woman carried a little bag attached by 
a ribbon "to her elbow. She now took out of 
it a cut-glass ix>ttle containing some liquid and 
put it on the table. 

" This summer," she said, " at Brighton, I 
was sunburned — horribly sunburned. -You will 
notice how my throat and shoulders are dis- 

She leaned over the table under the light 
which Mr; Greymarsh had switched on for, his 

And again the chemist was disturbed. 

To his eye there was no trace of discoloration. 
The throat and shoulders were perfect. He 
could see nothing to justify the words, but he 
made no reply, and the woman went on. 

" You see how bad it is," she said. " I 
hav* tried all sorts of •things to get rid of it ; 
harmless things such as one commonly uses. 
Finally my maid urged me to try this prepar- 
ation ; it is something she got from France. 
But I was afraid to use it until I asked some- 
body who knew — somebody I could trust to 
know. It might do the skin an injury." 

She pushed the bottle across the table toward 
the chemist. 

There was a moment when the man was about 
to get up in disgust. But his courtesy pre- 
vailed, and having gone thus far he concluded 
to continue on the way. 

He poured a little of the contents of the 
bottle into a dish, observed it, and added a 
reagent. Then he spoke. 

"This is a weak solution of arsenic," he 
said ; " such solutions are sometimes given with 
the idea that they brighten the skin." 

The woman clasped her hands, and put 
them out on the table with an impulsive gesture. 

" Oh ! " she said, " it has a poison in it ? " 

Mr. Greymarsh replied as one would answer 
a child. 

" Yes," he said ; " in a weak solution. Arsenic 
is a poison." 

" And you knew that instantly," she said. 
" How wonderful ! " 

The naive ignorance of the woman impressed 

"It is quite simple," he said. " We have 
accurate tests for arsenic." 

" And can you tell any poison on the instant 
like that ? " 

The woman went on as from an impulsive 

" Not all, madam," replied the chemist. 
" For the mineral poisons we have usually a 
conclusive test, but there are certain poisons 
the presence 6f which we are unable to deter- 
mine. For example, one which is made from 
the blood of an eel and the arrow poison of 
India. A great many experiments have been 
made on the bodies of persons destroyed by 
the arrow poison of India, but without any 
decisive result. If swallowed like the ordinary 

by V_ 



poisons it is digested without injury, but if 
applied to any abrasion on the body like the 
scratch of a needle or the prick of a thorn, it 
takes away the life of the victim without leaving 
any trace that modern sciencejis able to discover.*' 

The woman made an exclamation of surprise 
and wonder. 

" How interesting ! " she said. " ijow ex- 
traordinary ! What colour is it ? " 

The chemist went to the corner of his table, 
took up a tray of bottles covered with the 
green cloth, and set them down before her. 
He lifted the corner of the cloth and took out 
a little vial. 

" I have here a sample of it," he said. " You 
will observe that it has no distinguishing colour." 

The woman took the bottle in her hand, 
looked at it a moment, and then put it back. 

" It must be very fine," she said, " to know 
all these wonderful things. * I am sure you must 
regard me as idle and frivolous to disturb you 
with a beauty lotion, but you see the thing was 
immensely important to me. One never can 
tell what is in these preparations that one's 
maids hunt up as a final remedy. Lady Mon- 
tague's face was horribly burned by a lotion 
the Institute de Beaut6 prescribed for her in 
Nice. I thought I would ask you about it-^- 
and so I came." __; 

She smiled with a touch of coquetry. 

" And now, Mr. Greymarsh, will you give 
me a pen and ink ? " 

The chemist did not understand why his 
visitor should require these articles, but he 
went round the table and behind her into the 
library for them. He took up a pen and ink- 
pot from his secretaire and, as he turned about, 
he saw Sir Rufus Simon standing against the 
wall. He had come into the house unnoticed 
and he stood in the shadow of the door. . Grey- 
marsh was startled, and he was about to speak 
when the barrister laid a finger on his lip and 
indicated with a gesture the room from which 
the chemist had entered, as one would say : — 

" Keep silent and go back." 

The chemist in some bewilderment respected 
the indication, and returned with the ink and 
pen. Ho put them down on the table before 
his visitor. She took out a folded slip and 
began to write a cheque for twenty guineas. 

It was then the front door banged ; there 
was the sound of someone entering, a voice 
that called out to Greymarsh, and Sir Rufus 
Simon came into the room. 

The woman sprang up like tow touched with 
fire. There was terror in her, and for a moment 
it was uncertain how she would act. Then she 
recognized the barrister, and her whole aspect 

" Oh," she said, jerking her hands up with 
the fingers interlaced, " how you alarmed me ! 
It is Sir Rufus Simon ! " 

The barrister presented an apology for his 
intrusion, but his face, Mr. Greymarsh thought* 
was strange. In truth, in the aspect and ges- 
tures of his guests, the chemist was impressed 
with a tragic suppression. The sense of some- 
thing deformed about the woman now presented 







itself with a renewed insistence, and he looked 
to see it appear. But there was no visible 
indication of it. He almost thought he had 
it when she sprang up before the barrister, 
but it ebbed out before the exquisite beauty 
of the woman— or at least so the thing 
seemed to Mr. Greymarsh — at finding an 
acquaintance and a person of discretion in the 

She explained that a stranger might mis- 
understand, might incite a scandal at her 
presence in the house. But Mr. Greymarsh 
would explain her errand, and. Sir Rufus, 
familiar with the vanities of women, would 
not measure her by masculine ideas of perspec- 
tive. Besides, he was her husband's councillor 
and she had the right to depend upon that . 

But it was tjie tragic "suppression that im- 
pressed itself on Mr. Greymarsh. He thought 
the barrister had the appearance of one searching 
for a weapon, not with his hand in a material 
sense, but with the fingers of his mind, covertly ( 
and in an eager swiftness. It was a performance 
which held the chemist's attention, and pre- 
sently when the figure of the barrister lifted 
and his face changed, like one whose palm has 
finally closed on the handle of the thing he 
sought, Mr. Greymarsh felt a certain relaxation 
as of one escaping from a strained posture of 
suspense. . 

Sir Rufus Simon came a step farther into the 
room. His voice when he spoke was concerned 
and friendly. 

" I am very glad of this chance meeting," 
he said. '* I have just been to visit your hus- 
band and I have taken the opportunity of the 
visit, as I have taken the opportunity of every 
other, .to urge him to make known to you the* 
disposition of his affairs. 1 ' 

He paused. 

" But the ill and aged are immovably secre- 
tive. And I have failed, to-night, as I have 
failed at every other conference. And what is 
more, I am convinced that a further insistence 
is idle." 

He looked with concern into the woman's 

" There seemed after that," he continued, 
" another course to be considered. Ought I 
not to put the matter before you ? I came 
away from my old friend with that problem 
to be turned about." Again he paused. " And 
I have come to a conclusion. I think you 
ought to know about this matter. I think you 
have the right to know." 

The expression in the woman's face gave way 
to a sort of bewildered curiosity, as of one 
drawing back a little from a secret door that 
another is about to open. But now, there 
was a soothing confidence in the manner of Sir 
Rufus Simon. 

" It frequently happens," he said, " that 
men arrange their affairs to suit a condition 
of their life at a certain period, and permit 
that arrangement to continue out of negli- 
gence after the status of their affairs has 
taken on an entirely different aspect. Thus 

by Google 

it happens that old wills come up to inflict 

The woman was now facing Sir Rufus Simon 
with every feature in her face attentive. 

" Some years ago," the barrister went on, 
" before your marriage, Dan vers Buller, in no 
rugged health and with only his own life to 
consider, made a disposition of the major portion 
of his estate. It was permissible at the time 
for a man who wished to be rid of the pressure 
of affairs and desired only an income for his 
life. But when my old friend recovered his 
vitalities, embarked again upon his commercial 
enterprises and took a wife, this disposition 
he had made of his affairs was inconsistent. 
With almost the whole of his fortune he had 
purchased' what are called annuities terminating 
at his death. After his marriage, T pointed 
out that this arrangement was unfair to you. 
It meant that Danvers Buller was receiving 
a large income each year. during the period of 
his life, but that at his death this income would 
be cut off. His residence, as you know, he holds 
in lease from the Duke of Eldon. The assets 
of his business, widely scattered, are, 1 fear, 
when assembled at his death, but little in* excess 
of the liabilities." 

The barrister paused again like one watching 
closely the effect of each uttered word. 

" I continued to point out the injustice to' 
you in iiiis arrangement, and finally I got a 
concession. The inconle from the annuities 
was to be assembled and invested for you. But 
the augmentation of the sum has depended 
year by year upon your husband's tenure of 
life. Each year that he continued to live and 
draw the annuity added a considerable sum 
to your inheritance, and so," the barrister con- 
cluded, " for an additional reason, beyond my 
friendship, I have been glad that Danvers Buller 
has continued to live on with some prospect 
of an extended life, although paralytic and in 
no position to enjoy the tenure." 

Mr. Greymarsh thought he looked on at a 
third act with the curtain coming down. The 
woman's figure seemed to relax and stoop. 
She was wholly silent. 

The fog had deepened outside. The sounds 
of the city seemed far off, swaddled in a cloth. 
Presently, the woman moved to the door. She 
put her hand on the barrister's arm. 

" Will you help me to my carriage ? " she 
said. And she went out with no word of adieu 
or explanation. 

When the door to the street opened a line of 
fog crept in, curled through the drawing-room, 
and extended itself to the table behind which 
the chemist stood. It was yellow-coloured and 
portentous, like the toxic visitation in the Hebrew 
myth. A momentrlater the door closed, severing 
the sinister antennae, and the barrister came back 
into the room. 

" Sir Rufus," cried Mr. Greymarsh, " what 
does this thing mean ? " 

The barrister extended his hand toward the 

" My friend," he said, " I was a witness to 
this night's affair in the shadow of your door 

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in yonder. I think you will find your vial of 
poison empty. But you are not to be alarmed. 
Its contents are spilled out of the glass bottle 
on your carpet." 

And, putting out the ferrule of his walking- 
stick, he moved something beside the chair. 

The chemist whipped the green cover from 
his cluster of bottles and held up to the light 
the vial that had contained the arrow poison 
of India. It was empty. For awhile he stared 

into it, then he presented to the banister a 
face distended with amazement. 

" In the name of God, Sir Rufus," he repeated t 
" what does it mean ? " 

44 It means, my friend," replied the barrister, 
" that I have given you the human experiment 
which you requested. It means that I have 
saved a woman from murder and a man from 
being an accessory before the fact — and 1 have 
done it with a lie E " 

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Original from 


* An Allegory on tne banks of tne Nile. 

Mrs. Malaprop. 


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A V. 

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^ **. 

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Illustrated by Ernest Prater. 

OOD EVENING, Jonah ! And' 
how is life, old top ? " The man 
I was dining with greeted an 
officer passing our table with a 
cheery smile. " Come and tear 
a cutlet with us." 

The other paused and re- 
garded the speaker coldly. 
" James," he remarked, " you forget yourself. I 
can endure your face in the club at Poperinghe, I 
can even dally awhile with you in the boot shop 
at Bethune ; but to dine with you in London 
and listen to your port-laden views of life is a 
thing which I will not do. My time is too short, 
James, to waste on such as you. 1 ' 

" He affects that style of conversation," 
remarked James, sadly, to no one in particular, 
" ever since he came under the influence of love. 
Is she here to-night, Jonah, this unfortunate 
girl of whom you so often babble when you 
are in your cup; ? " 

" For what other reason would I have put on 
my new thirty -shilling suiting ? Of course, she's 
here, old boy ; look — there she is coming down 
the steps. Some girl, Jimmy — what ? " 

He moved away to meet her, and with a nod 
and a grin to us came back past our table on 
the way to his own. As he said, sha was " some " 
girl, and our eyes followed them both as they 
threaded their way through the diners. 

" Who's your pal, James ? " I asked him, when 
the girl had disappeared round the corner. " His 
views on the suitable companionship at face- 
feeding times commend themselves to me at 
first sight." 

He ignored the implication, and concentrated 
on the tournedos for awhile. Then, suddenly he 
leaned back in his chair, stuffed his hands in his 
pockets, and contemplated me benignly. 

" Peter," he remarked, " you are a lucky man. 
I am going to tell you a story." 

" Great Scot ! " I exclaimed ; " not that long 
one about the girl and the lodging-house ? You 
told me that last time I saw you, and got it 

" What a mind you have, Peter ; what a 
mind. No, I am not going to tell you the story 


by dC 

of the girl and the lodging-house, brilliantly 
witty though it is. I am going to tell you a 
story — a true story — about a Tank/' 

" Human or otherwise," I remarked, pessi- 

James looked at me in pained surprise. " I 
am sorry to disappoint you : but — otherwise. 
Waiter — another bottle of champagne; the 
gentleman's thoughts have turned to his stomach 
as usual." 

He thoughtfully drained his own glass and lit 
a cigarette. " I have no objection to your eating 
while I smoke," he remarked, % kindly ; " and a 
cigarette enables me to collect my thoughts and 
present to you my story in that well-known 
style on which my fame as a raconteur is largely 

" Well, just write down the point before you 
forget it, or " 

M Once upon" a time, Peter," he commenced, 
in a withering tone, " the Belgians made Ypres, 
and the Lord made the country around it. By 
Jove ! there's little Kitty Drayton. I must go 
and speak to her afterwards." 

•' Yes, I'd tell her of your monumental dis- 
covery if I were you. Your reputation as a 
conversationalist will be made for life." 

After a depressing interlude, during which he 
failed signally to catch the lady's eye, he again 
turned his attention to me. 

"At a later period the Hun intervened. I 
believe you saw much of his earlier endeavours, 
Peter, around that delectable spot ? " 

" I did ; moreover, I have since revisited the 
haunts of my youth. I don't mind telling you, 
James, that I had a devilish near squeak " 

" And i£ I'm not too bored I might possibly 
listen — later, but not now ; at present, it's my 
story, and it's very rude to interrupt. You may 
say yes or no, Peter, if your feelings overcome 
you ; otherwise, kindly restrain yourself." 

He once again endeavoured to catch the 
wandering optic of fair Kate, with the same 
result as before ; a bad starter at any time is 
James, but he frequently finishes well. 

" The story which I am going to tell you 
concerns Wipers, in that it took place there or 

in the U.S. A. 

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thereabouts. North-east of it, round about that 
cheerful little inland health resort, St. Julian. 
A nasty spot, Peter, a nasty spot." 

" Personally, I confined myself principally to 
Hooge." I murmured. " But I accept your 
words without prejudice." 

" So much for the locality. The conditions I 
need not bore you with. Just one enormous 
morass of filth and mud and water and shell-hole ; 
just the ordinary sort of country only a bit worse, 
and everything as damnable as it could be. 
Ugh, horrible ! " Let us come to pleasant sub- 
jects — to wit, the Seasick Cow — the principal 
actor in the drama. 

" The Seasick Cow," he silenced my frivolous 
interruption wi£h a glance, ".was, and for all I 
know is, at the present moment a Tank. On 
the other hand, it may quite possibly be scrap- 
iron, as the position in which it was last seen 
goes into the air twice hourly. That, however, 
is immaterial ; what I want to tell you about is 
her last voyage, which was by way of being a 
bit of an epic. 

" I suppose you've heard of the new Hun 
pill-boxes. They are nasty contrivances made 
of reinforced concrete, and are dotted pro- 
miscuous-like all over their front. When hit by 
a shell the entire performance moves back a little 
farther, and the garrison, having sorted the 
sausage out of the mix-up, resume their inter- 
rupted breakfast two or three feet nearer Berlin. 
It was up against a little nest of these that the 
Powers that Be decided to do a bit of a strafe. 
They told off the Feet who were to be the proud 
and delighted performers, and they gave 'em 
the Seasick Cow to help 'em. Then they gave 
them their blessing, and retired to await 

" Now the Cow was apparently the Tank of the 
Section. The whole crush are most inordinately 
proud of their machines, and spend hours in 
titivating up the interior ; but I went inside the 
Cow once, and her detachment had fairly spread 
themselves. The engine shone till you could see 
your face in it, and a Kirchner picture over the 
driver's head helped him to keep his eyes in the 
boat. Parts of her had been painted blue with 
a delicate motif of purple, and one only wanted 
a ha-track and a bath in the corner to have the 
ideal week-end cottage." 

" Your picture," I murmured, " is most 

" All my pictures always are." James frowned 
absently at a passing waiter. " Have you ever 
been inside a Tank, Peter ? " 

".Once," I answered, reminiscently, "after a 
heavy lunch. The Army Council stood outside 
and applauded, whilst I " 

" Army Council ! " James interrupted me in 
his most withering tone. " Then it was in 
England you did 'the deed ? " 

" Where else," I returned, " would you 

expect to find the ? But, hush! We are 

observed. Yes, it was in England — many moons 
ago, when I was on leave, that " 

" I am quite certain the story is immoral, so I 
won't trouble you any more. All I wanted to 
know before I really began was if you knew what 


the inside of a Tank was like. Apparently yon 
do, so I will continue. A little '65 brandy, 
waiter, and a cigar." 

James settled himself comfortably in his chair, 
and inspected his liqueur with the eye of a 
connoisseur. " One can't get it in France, you 
know, this stuff. I never can make out why not. 
However, Peter — having got past your digres- 
sions, let us proceed. 

" The line, at the particular spot where this 
drama of the Seasick Cow was enacted, was in a 
state of flux. You know the sort of thing I mean : 
no man knows what his next-door neighbour 
doeth, but is merely the proud possessor of a 
shell-hole, water-logged, mark one. Mark one : 
In the course of a previous operation we had 
captured the Green line, or the Blue line, or some 
bally line — I forget which : and our outposts 
had consolidated themselves — I don't thinks 
in the unprepossessing piece of country in frotat. 
Which merely meant that A Company — much 
against its will — sat in slush and great peril one 
hundred and fifty yards nearer the Hun than 
anyone else. Now for the Hun. 

"On A Company's right there rose a little 
mound three or four hundred yards fti front of 
them : and beyond the mound, which was really 
the end of a sort of small spur running across 
them, was a small valley. At the other side of 
the valley was another little hillock with the 
remnants of a farm on top. . . . All right, 
Adolphus : my friend will pay for any damage 1 
do to the table-cloth." 

James shoved away a waiter, who was raising 
protesting hands to Heaven at the deep gouges 
in the cloth, by means of which my friend was 
endeavouring to show me the run of the ground. 

" A valley crossing your front," I repeated, 
" screened from view by a small spur. And the 
principle of defensive war is the counter-attack," 

" Clever boy ! " James beamed upon me. 
" Why you aren't Commander-in-Chief hq_s 
always been one of life's little mysteries as fax 
as I am concerned. But there was something else, 
Peter: between the. little spur, and the hillock 
with the farm-house, and right at the very 
entrance to the valley, were a couple of pill-boxes. 
Do you take the situation ? " 

" With exactitude," I answered. " Process." 

" This was the little bundle of fun which the 
Seasick Cow in company with the Feet were 
detailed to attack, hold, and consolidate." 

" The answer," I remarked, gently, " being a 
lemon. I always like to hear of these things 
after they've happened, and the band is playing, 
and the women are beautiful. If that wretched 
girl does happen to see you looking like that by. 
any chance/ and complains to the man with her^ 
I will not be your second. My sympathies are 
all with her." 

James came-to from his third frenzied en- 
deavour on the unconscious Kitty and looked 

" If there is one thing I loathe," he said, 
coldly, " it's jealousy. However," he went on 
after a moment, " that was not all they were told 
to do. It was thought that fresh vistas would 
open before their delighted gaze, once they were 




the proud possessors of that valley, and further 
developments were left to the initiative of all 

" Which makes it two lemons/' I looked at 
James sternly, ri Cut the cackle, my lad. and 
get to the 'osses* It's- closiog time here for all 
officers shortly, and we have foolishly forgotten 
to come in mufti. No chance of pretending we're 
on any important war- work." 

"True, Peter; true. At times you Ye quite 
bright, I will get down to it. At 3,30 all 
emma on a murky morning in August, la belle 
vache sogged wearily forward. She ploughed 
through shell-holes, and she sq nattered over mud* 
and generally behaved in the manner of all Tanks, 
She passed through A Company, and A Company 
waved her on her way rejoicing : they were not 

it may be a long business. Now, James, a* 
Tank Commander- — carry on." 

" The first thing the Cow encountered, bar a 
passing machine-gunner or two, whom they 
dispatched rapidly to a better, or, at any rate, 
less muddy world, was a pilL-box,- That was the 
one on the near side of the valley just beyond the 
nxst spur, Sport poor. The garrison ran like 
hell, and the light was too bad for good shooting. 
Only one man was caught for certain, and he 
slipped in endeavouring to negotiate a shell-hole. 
He slipped, as I said, and so did the Cow on top 
of him. A sticky end/' James meditatively 
sipped his brandy : and we pondered* 

" Then the Cow passed on. The arrangement 
was that she should make good the pill-boxes, 
and should then advance up the valley behind 






the party detailed to go with her ; and in a few 
minutes she had disappeared from view in front. 
Once or twice her machine-guns pattered out 
their joyful note, as they discovered a wily Hoc he 
lurking in a shell-hole ; a bomb or two burst 
viciously in the dawn, but the old Cow sogged 
gently on. Then some Feet came through A 
Company — a party of the force detailed to act 
with the Tank, and from then on the usual 
confusion prevailed. Moreover, Peter, my story 
is now largely hearsay— though from much 
evidence, I can guarantee its truth* I think I 
will give it to you from the point of view of the 
crew of the Cow." 

"Just on time, gentlemen. Any more 
liqueurs ? " A solicitous waiter hovered around 
our table. 

" Of course/' I answered. " Make them 
double ones. Knowing this officer, I'm afraid 

vol i T .-u, hv LiOOiJ l< 


the infantry, But unfortunately, mundane 
trifles intervened- Half-way between the two 
pi LI -boxes* she* stuck. In the vernacular she 
got bellied, and her infuriated crew realized 
that only extensive digging operations from the 
outside would save the situation* Which was 
annoying considering the fact that they were 
well within the German lines, and had so far 
sent only ten Huns to account for their 
nefarious past. 

if However, there was nothing for it, and so 
the crew watched the Feet go past them, and 
they got out to investigate. And they were 
still investigating when a couple of hours later 
the infantry started to come back. Life, so the 
Tank Commander gathered, had not been all it 
might, two or three hundred yards further on ; 
more pill -boxes had appeared, with machine-guns 
placed in cunning noclis, and altogether the 


i 7 8 


place was too hot for comfort. So, seeing that 
the operation was only a local one, the infantry 
officer in charge had decided quite rightly to 
withdraw, in order to save further useless loss 
of life." 

" You get the picture, Peter! " James leaned 
forward with his eyes on me. " Trickling back 
slowly — the infantry ; bellied and stuck — the 
Tank, a quarter of a mile in front of our own 
lines. Time — 6 a.m. on a summer's morning." 

" Pleasant," I answered. " What was the 
Hun doing ? " 

" At the moment — not much. There was a 
lot of machine-gunfire in front, but practically 
no artillery. Then suddenly down came the 
barrage, and the Tank's crew hurriedly ceased 
their investigations and got inside. When they 
looked out again what was left of the infantry 
had disappeared/' 

" So," I said, " if I take the situation correctly, 
at the. period we have got to at present, we have 
Tanks, one, disabled, with crew, a quarter of a 
mile odd in front of our outpost line, squatting * 
at the point where a small hidden valley running 
across our front debouched into the open. Given 
in addition that the valley was obviously made 
for the massing of a counter-attack, and that 
one might reasonably be expected in the near 
future, we have all the setting for what our old 
pal Falstaff would have described as ' indeed a 
bloody business.' Don't interrupt me, James ; 
I know it wasn't Falstaff, but he might just as 
easily have said it as anyone else. Question : 
What did A do — A being the Tank Comman&er-?" 

" When you've quite finished, I propose to 
tell you. And before I begin, what would you 
have done ? " 

" Hopped it like Ti— er — that is, I should 
immediately have beaten a strategic retreat, and 
reported to the man farthest in rear who would 
listen to me that I had, with deep regret, left 
the Seasick Cow bellied in the Hun lines, and 
please might I go on leave ? " 

" And no bad judge, either. But not so the 
Tank wallah, Peter, not so — but far otherwise. 
It may have seemed to you that up-to-date I 
have been speaking with undue flippancy ; I'll 
cut ii now, old man, for what I'm going to tell 
you is absolutely great. At 8 a.m., then, on 
a certain morning — the barrage being over — 
that Tank Commander found himself deserted. 
In front of him an occasional Hun dodged from 
shell-hole to shell-hole, but taking it all the way 
round there was peace. Behind him were his own 
people, but having bellied in a little fold in the 
ground, he was out of sight from them. And 
1here was a counter-attack expected. So he 
called together his warriors and told them the 
situation ; then they sat down and waited. He 
whose soul lay in the engines continued to polish 
them mechanically ; the paint artist removed 
dirt from his handiwork and cursed fluently — 
while the remainder breakfasted on bully. Then 
they waited again. 

" ' If they start massing,' were the Tank 
Commander's orders, * pop outside with the 
guns, get them into shell-holes, and let 'em have 
it. Then get back inside.' 

" At midday the Hun put down a barrage on 
our qwn front line, and almost at once their 
infantry started massing in the valley. They 
came on in line of small columns, paying not 
the slightest attention to the Tank, which they 
thought was deserted. A beautiful target, 
Peter, one to dream about. From about a 
hundred yards did our 7 cheery warriors open 
fire, and allowing for exaggeration, the bag was 
about two hundred. So that counter-attack did 
not materialize, and the crew had dinner. 

" But now the whole aspect of affairs had . 
changed, for the Huns knew that the Tank was 
very far from deserted. Given a good sniper, 
unlimited time, and ammunition, and a hole to 
shoot at, however small, sooner or later he will 
get it. It was about four o'clock that the mono- 
tonous ping-ping of bullets on the Cow's hide 
changed to a whistling flop, and with a drunken 
gurgle the painter crashed down on to the floor, 
and lay there drumming with his heels. Ten 
minutes later he' died, and the crew had tea. 

" Thereafter there was silence. Occasionally 
one of the men sitting motionless at his gun 
got in a shot at a fleeting target ; but gradually 
dusk came on, the half-light time when one 
fancies things, when the bushes move and the 
hummocks of mud crawl with men. Then came 
the night. 

" At 9 p.m. the Tank Commander had decided 
to send, an N.C.O. back to our lines to inform 
them of the situation ; and at 9 p.m., therefore, 
the door was carefully opened, and a sergeant 
descended into the darkness. The next instant 
there was a guttural curse and a snarling, 
worrying noise. He had fallen on top of a Hun, 
and had only just time to stick a bayonet 
through his throat and jump back into the 
Tank again, and batten down the door when, the 
Boches were all over them. For six long weary 
hours did they clamber over that Tank, bursting 
bombs on the top, trying to fire through loop- 
holes, shouting to the crew to surrender. And 
the only answer they got was : * For Heaven's 
sake go away ; we can't sleep,' One proud 
Berlin butcher planted a machine-gun a yard 
from the door, and fired at it point-blank for an 
hour. Result — nil ; except that just as he was 
going away, being a-weary of his pastime, his head 
coincided with the muzzle of one of the bigger 
guns of the Seasick Cow. A nasty death — though 
quick. And the evening and the morning were 
the first day. 

" Twenty-four hours, Peter, up-to-date — quite 
enough, one would think, for the ordinary man. 
But not so for that Tank Commander. When 
the first chinks of light came stealing in through 
the loopholes, he took stock of his surroundings, 
Men can't go on firing point-blank through a 
Tank for six odd hours without doing some 
damage ; and though a cautious survey of the 
ground outside revealed a pretty bag of dead 
and dying Huns, a continuous groaning from the 
corner by the engine showed that there w^ls 
trouble inside as well. The groaning came from 
the sergeant, who had got the splinter of a bomb 
in the stomach, and across his legs lay another 
of the crvw sione dead, shot through the heart. 







The polisher of engines was morosely nursing a 
right hand which hung down limply and dripped,, 
and yet another had taken a bullet through the 

" * Boys/ remarked the Tank Commander, 
1 things have looked better — sometimes. But — * 
they may put up another counter-attack to-day, 
What say you t Shall we pad the hoof ? ' 

M ' An' let them ruddy perishers *ave the 
Cow ? Not on your life p sir, not on your life.' 
The engineer scowled horribly. ' Besides, the 
boys may come back soon. 1 

" ' 'Ear, 'ear, 1 The sergeant's voice was very 
feeble, .' Stick it out, sir, for Gawd's sake.* 

" f Right you are, boys. Them's my senti- 
ments. Let's have breakfast/ 

' The next day was hot for a change— swelter- 
ing hot, and by the time the Boches put in another 
counter-attack the sergeant was delirious. It 
was a much more cautious affair this time, for 
they mistrusted that squat, silent machine. All 
the morning snipers had potted at her from three 
sides without effect, only the monotonous thud 
of the bullets lulled the remnants of the crew; to 
sleep. It just requires a little imagination, 
Peter, that's all, to get the inside of that Tank- 
Two dead, one delirious, two more wounded, and 
— well, we will not specify further details. And 
brooding over all, an oppressive, sweltering heat, 
through which the sergeant moaned continuously 
and begged for water, while the others slept 
fitfully as best they could. 

' Then came the second counter-attack. Once 
again the barrage on our own front lines roused 
the crew and they stood to their guns : once 
again they saw those small columns of Huns 
coming on. As 1 said, it was a far more cautious 
affair this one, and targets were hard to pick up ; 
but they did pick 'em up, and for the second time 
the counter-attack f ailed to materialize. The 
thing which did not fail to materialize was an 
odd shot through one of the loopholes which 
found that a mans eye is not bullet-proof. And 
that made three dead . . , * 

" At dusk they held another Council of War, 
and the Tank Commander gave tongue, - Go 
forth/ he said, ' even like the penguins from the 
Ark and tell unto the Feet behind us that wc 
are sore pressed, but that our tails— -in so far as 
they remain — are in a vertical position, above 
our heads. Also that we have slaughtered 
large quantities of Huns, and would have them 
join us in this most exhilarating sport/ 

" * Even so, O King/ spake out he of the 
wounded flipper, ' but who is to go ? For upon 
casting my eye round the court circle, beside 
yourself there is but one u a wounded man.' 

- Forgive me thus bursting into language of 
rare ^auty 7 but I'm afraid it's the brandy/' 
James thoughtfully lit a cigarette. " I gather 
that words ran high in the Seasick Cow when 
the Commander insisted on the one un wounded 
man* accompanied by him of the damaged lunch- 
hooks, going back and leaving him. For a while 
they flatly refused to go, and it was not until he 
had sentenced them both to penal servitude for 
they reluctantly agreed to obey orders- 
pip em ma on the second day they 

shook one another by the hand, grunted as is the 
manner of our race, and cautiously dropped out 
of the entrance and this story/' 

w Which up-to-date is not bad for you, James/ 1 * 
I reassured him, kindly. 

" At the beginning of the second night, then/' 
he continued, coldly, ignoring my words, " we 
find our Tank Commander practically alone. 
Three of his crew were dead, the sergeant 
unconscious, and the rest in varying stages of 
delirious babblings. And though it is easy to 
talk of here, yet if you will picture your own 
wanderings in No Mans Land, with the flares 
shooting up, and the things that were which 
jibber at you, and having pictured that, imagine 
yourself inside a Tank, with occasional shafts of 
ghostly light flooding through loopholes and 
shining on the set dead faces of the crew, I think 
you will agree that there are better ways of 
spending the night. Not a soul to speak to 
coherently : only one man who thought he was 
in Co vent Garden Market selling meat and 
monotonously called the prices, and another who 
was apparently playing mental golf round West- 
ward Ho 1 Then, as a finale, the sergeant who 
occasionally came to and moaned for water : 
but being hit in the stomach, Peter, he couldn't 
have any. Those three and the dead. * * . 

"At io pip ernma came the Huns again. 
They swarmed all over the Tank for the second 
time, and dodging from loophole to loophole 
was the Tank Commander, Sometimes he blew 
a mans head off from point-blank range, some- 
times a bullet whizzed past his own and ricochet- 
ted round the inside of the Cow. About twelve 
the golfer was hit through the heart, and shortly 
afterwards the Co vent Garden gentleman went 
clean crazy. He alternately fired a Very pistil 
and one of the guns into the crowd outside, and, 
rinding this too slow, endeavoured to open the 
door and charge. Then somewhat mercifully 
he collapsed suddenly and lay on the floor and 

" About 4 a.m. the Huns went away again, 
and the Tank Commander had just enough 
strength left to stagger to the gun and draw a 
bead on a stoutish officer some lifty yards away, 
who seemed very annoyed about something — 
probably the fact that the Cow was still there, 
He pulled the trigger, and the shell apparently 
burst on the officer : which must have been still 
more annoying for the poor man. Then with a 
short sigh of utter weariness he collapsed and 
slept. And the evening and the morning were 
the second day. . . . 

if About three o'clock the next day we werit 
forward preceded by a creeping barrage* Fun- 
nily enough, I personally found the mechanic 
and the other warrior. They had encountered 
a Hun patrol, and things had evidently moved. 
They were all dead — four Huns, and the two 
Tankites, The mechanic had apparently used 
a spanner with effect : he still had it gripped 
tight in his right hand, Then we went on and 
saw the Tank for the first time, because being 
fresh troops we knew nothing about it. It was 
dead — lifeless : but not so dead or lifeless as the 
mass of Germans helped around it, The barrage 





IT H WOK] N M B II 1 . 


reached it, played on it T and parsed on ; we 
reached it p looked at it, and were about to p 

when suddenly the- door opened and a haggard- 
looking, blood-stained wreck appeared in it. 

1 What a shindy 1 * he remarked. ' It's 
woken me up/ " 

" Lord, how the men laughed. It tikes a lot 
to make anyone laugh who is trying I ver 

Flanders, but they 1 envied — -he looked so cott- 
foundly peevish. Then a couple of them looked 
inside the Tank and ceased laughing to be sick, 

" ' Got two stretcher-bearers ? ' asked the 
apparition, ' My sergeant's been hit in the 
stomach for forty*eight hours/ 

M We found him two, and the last I saw o! 
him for a few fay* hi: 5 M Ll /<l?ring back with his 

1 8a 


sergeant through the filth. Met him often since 
at Poperinghe in the club, and at Beth line, . . . 
Night-night, Jonah. When are you going back ?** 
" In live days, old boy. If a a hard life, is not 

Jonah and his girl passed slowly up the stepSj 
and I watched them as they went. 

, " Poperinghe ! Bethune I " I murmured, 
slowly, " Is he the cause, by any chance, of 
your interesting but somewhat irrelevant yarn ? " 

As I spoke the glitter and scent, the lights and 
the women, seemed blotted out by another 
picture: a grim picture with a Tank for setting, 
a squat motionless Tank gripping with blood* 
surrounded by death. 

** Of course/' answered James, briefly. "Three 
days and three nights in the belly of the whale : 
three days and two nights in the belly^ of the 
Tank, But, by Jove 1 there's Kitty on the 
move. Night- night p old man, You might pay/* 

THE TANKS: The Origin of the Name. 

By F. J. GARDINER, F.R.Hist.S. 

"W* N an article which appeared in this maga- 
I zine in September last, suggestions were 
I made as to the probable derivation of 
J ^ the word " Tank which does not seem 
to describe correctly the newest development 
■ in modern warfare. It was hinted that it may 
have been intended to dis- 
guise its real use and to 
conceal its destructive capa- 
bilities from the enemy, to 
whom it would be revealed 
only as an astounding and 
terrifying surprise. The 
origin of the word is t how- 
ever, not unknown, and now 
that the name is on every- 
one's lips, it may be well to 
set at rest a discussion which 
otherwise would be one of 
mere speculation. 

Who, then, was the in- 
ventor of the principle of 
the Tank, and why was it 
so named ? The facts are 
as follows : Thomas Tank 
Burall was the manager of 
a well -known Norfolk firm 
of engineers, still known as 
Messrs, Burrcll and Sons, 
of Thctford. Although the 
manager's name was similar 
to that of his employers in 
sound, he was not a relative, 
and to avoid the confusion 
that was likely to ansa it 
was obviated by his being 
called Bur** tf, with the accent 
on the last syllable. 

Tank was a family name, the 
maiden name of his mother, 
and Tom Tank Burall was 
called " Tank " for brevity 
by his familiar friends. 

Tom Tank Burall was an 
ingenious mechanical expert, 
with an inventive turn of 
ttlinr^and his employers soon 
realized his value by making 
him manager of the The t ford Engineering 
Works. He was always devising some new 
improvement in agricultural and marine machin- 
ery or labour-saving schemes in these works. 
Amongst other brilliant ideas he invented the 
compound steam traction-engine, which was 
reported upon in the Engineer of July 15th, 

Digiliz&d by C** 


iSSt. At the Royal Agricultural Show at 
Derby in that year, Messrs. Burrcll showed 
what is described as a "■' most novel engine," 
a ten -horse-power traction-engine with a Land ore 
steel boiler. It was said to be a curious type of 
compound engine, very simple, " with a new 
steam steering-gear which 
was the invention of Mr. 
Thomas Tank Burall, man- 
ager to Messrs. Burr ell and 
Sons. iJ The gear was stated 
to be well adapted for steer- 
ing ships and for large marine 
engines, to which it has since 
been widely applied, The 
engine was said to be the 
most noteworthy exhibit in 
the showyard. A silver 
medal was awarded to it 
at the Worcestershire Agri- 
cultural Show. Mr. Tank 
Burall, realizing the diffi- 
culty these traction-engines 
experienced in getting over 
ploughed fields and uneven 
ground, conceived the idea 
of f4 pattens " for the wheels, 
and also the springs which 
are so much in use in all the 
better classes of traction- 
engines. The famous cater- 
pillar wheels arc the outcome 
ol this invention,, and have 
now led to the ultimate 
construction of the Tanks as 
engines of war. Mr, Bu rails 
ingenuity surprised his fel- 
low workers in the factory, 
and they, in their admira- 
tion of liis capacity and 
originality, gave these en- 
gines, with their " pat tened M 
J. wheels, the name of Tanks, 
in compliment to then- 
manager. Unfortunately, the 
clever expert's career was but 
a short one. Constantly over- 
working himself, the strain 
proved too great, and one day, while at his omce- 
desk he fell down dead, the result of heart- trouble. 
Such was the origin of the word ■" Tank," 
whieh was not, as some have thought, derived 
from the reservoir or cistern- shape of the war- 
machines which have struck such terror into 
the minds of the Germans. 





Herb is a group of twelve diminutive n pill-boxes ,f 
captured from the German* somewhere in Islanders. 
The subterranean passage* connecting them are all 
shown. It is required to make the men numbered 
i % 2, 3, 4 change places with those, numbered 5, 6, 7, 8, 
in as lew moves as possible, moving only one man at 


a time from pill-box II to pill-box* There is 
only room for one [^ man in a box at the 
same ttme, but box G V^/& will be found o£ the 
greatest assistance if properly used. Make 

a rough diagram: and use eight numbered counters. 
The letters wfU he!j> in recorcSng^he solution. How 
r any moves do you require ? Of course^ after changing 
sides the numbers of the men must still be in numerical 
order downwards — i, 2, 3, 4, and 5, 6, 7, 8— and a man 
may go any possible distance in one move. 


I have frequently been shown the 
annexed position by chess- enthu- 
siasts, but have always been told 
that the author is unknown. As 
a matter of fact, it is by E. B. 
Cook, and was first published in 
" American Chess-nuts " in 1868. 
It is quite a gem. It is White's 
move, and at first sight it looks 
as if nothing can save him from 
defeat, as Black threatens to 
queen his pawn, and the queen 
would win against the rook. Yet 
White can draw the game in a 
very few moves. How does he 
do it? Part of the board is 
omitted' merely to save space. 

It will be found that 32547891 multiplied by 
6 (thus using all the nine digits once, and once only) 
gives the product 195287346 (also containing ail 
the nine digits once, and once only). Can you find 
another number to be multiplied by 6 under the same 
conditions ? Remember that the nine digits must x 
appear once, and once only^ in the sums multiplied and 
in the product. 

A correspondent writes me an interesting letter 
about word squares, referring to our No. 377. He says 
that innumerable five-letter and six-letter squares 
huve been printed (I should say that the former . 
number thousands and the latter hundreds), but he 
has only seen one seven-letter square. The reader 
may like to solve this even- earlier seven-letter square 
of my own. So far as I know, it was the first word-, 
square presented in verse : — 

*Twas spring. The abbey woods were decked with 

The abbot, with his fifth, no trouble reckoned ; 
But shared the meats and seventh which every man 
Who loves to feast has first since time began. 
Then comes a stealthy sixth across the wall, 
Who fourths the plate and jewels, cash and all, 
And ere the abbot and the monks have dined, 
He thirds, and leaves no trace or clue behind. 

Solutions to Laat Moatli'a Puzzles. 

Play the- counters hi the following order : B H C 
F B — 28 moves. 

Let Anderson ride nfr milesydrop the bicycle, and 
walk the rest of the way* Brown will walk until he 
picks* up the bicycle and then ride to their destination, 
getting there* at exactly the same time as Anderson* 
Tne- journey takes them jhrs*. aominv Or you can 
diVfde the distance into nine equal stages and drop 
the. bicycle at every stage. Only Anderson must start 
off on Qie bicycle. 

The reader probably soon detected the song of the 
nightingale. Notwithstanding the great variety it 
contains, thfe song is practically always the same, 
when once the binl has completed its rehearsals in 
the early spring. 

Occupy successively 1st file, 1st row, 6th file, 6th 
row, one of the diagonals, 2nd row, 5th file, 5th row, 
2nd file, the other diagonal, 3rd jow, 4th file, 4th row, 
3rd file. Thus the fourteen manoeuvres will be found 
to require only five moves each (the sixth cnieen always 
remaining stationary), making 70 moves in all. But 
you must revisit the sixth row, on which the queens 
are originally placed, at the second or fourth operation, 
or you will require one more move. 

Mason's chance of winning was one in six. If 
Jackson had selected the numbers 8 and 14 his chances 
would have been exactly the same. 

by L^OOgle 

The word is CIVIL. Thus, L (50) multiplied by 
* equals C (100). Divide C by 20 and you have V. 
Divide V by 5 and you have I. 

Hague, Erin, Persia, Texas, Verona, Hereford, 
Erie, Hayti, Cork r Nice, Genoa r Taunton, Nineveh. 



[We shait ht glad to receivt Cvntributims io this section, and to pay jar such as are -accepted,] 


THE farmers of Bermuda have brought the culti- 
vation of the lily to a science, and on many 
fields there are single specimens that bear as many as 
a hundred distinct blooms or blossoms. The record 

plant shown in the accompanying photograph was 
grown in 1913. This single stalk bore no fewer than 
one hundred and ninety *f our perfect flowers. It is the 
largest lily plant ever raised in Bermuda and caused 
considerable comment in horticultural circles. 


I HAVE constructed what I believe to be the 
snuillest known working model electric motor. 
The model was photographed wilh a halfpenny 
beside it, in order to give a better idea of its size. 
The materials used are as follows : The base is cut 
Iron the lid of a cigar-box and measures 2 l in. by I Jin. 
Tb: balance-wheel of a dress watch serves as the 
armature ; it is (in* in diameter. The shaft is merely 

the stem of an ordinary pin, iin. Ion*;, which rotates 

on jewelled bearing also taken from the watch. The 

sound-plate of a disused mouth-organ supplied the 

necessary brass* including a small triangular piece to 

% as commutator* A few pieces of iron wire, bent 

the proper curve and held together by the coils, 

fe of wire stripped from an etectric bell, form the 

lired magnet* The nuts used were cut from the 


brass nipples at the ends of bicycle spokes. The model 
runs at a high speed with a current of two volts.— 
Mr, Robert A. Tennant (sixteen years old), 6, St* 
Mary's Terrace, Gal way , Ireland. 


r recent years we have had automatic lights, 
and even automatic lightships, but the firstly 

unatt ended 
lighthouse with a 
powerful fog-signal 
is the recently- 
completed Platte 
Fou«cre Lighthouse, 
marking the en- 
trance to Russell 
Channel, leading to 
the Guernsey capital 
of St. Peter Port, 
This unattended 
tower, built of ferro* 
concrete on a wave* 
washed rock, is of 
irregular octagonal 
shape, eighty feet 
high. The room 
below, the gallery 
contains many 
wonderful electrical 
devices, con trailed 
from the shore by a 
submarine cable. 
By its aid the fog- 
horn and siren are regularly blown, while it also 
controls the light in the lantern.— Mr. H* J* Shepstone, 
13% Broom wood Road, Clopham Common, S.W.i k 

Bridge Problem* 

By E. N. Frank en stkin. 

Hearts — Ace, Jm;ne, 4. 
Clubs— None. 
DuinondtB— Ace. 
Spades — Knave, E, 6. 

Hearts— King, 8, 
Clubs— King, 8, 6. 
Diamonds— g» 
Spades— King. 

Hearts— g, 0» 

Diamonds— 4» 
Spades — iOj 7, 2. 

Hearts — Queen, 7* 
Clubs— Knave, q, 3. 
Diamond s — $J one. 
Spades— Ace, 9. 
Htnris are trumps and A ha* the lead. A B are 10 win 
all the ^evett trices against any possible defence. 

{The solatia* tviti appear nt*£ nwnlk+} 


Trick 1,— A leads small spatle, trumped by B. 

Trick 2. — B leads heart , won by A with the queen. 

Trick 3. — A leads queen of spades j Y discards 
heart ; B discards diamond* 

Trick 4,— A leads 7 of spades ; Y discards heart ; 
B trumps. 

Trick 5. — B leads the last trump; and A B vrin 
the rest according to the discards of Z and Y, 

Original from 


BREAD FOR 1918. 

The choicest wheat and malted 
barley— nature's greatest life sus- 
taining products — prepared by the 
Bermaline process, which not only 
increases the nutritious value of the 
bread but makes it more easily 
digestible, give to Bermaline a food 
value much greater than ordinary 

It is indeed a complete food in itself, 
with an ever freah and inviting flavour, 
and nourishing in the highest degree. 

Bermaline go** further : 
make it the family bread* 


Best Brown Bread^X 

"It's a meal in itself." 

5A per lb. loaf from Bakers 

MONTGOMERY & Co.. Ltd., 

BermaUe Factory. GLASGOW. 
A i <}. 

I will make YOU a Brilliant 
Pianist without Drudgery, 
Fatigue, or Failure. 

You shall get n mi my modern, vivid, progress* 
compelling Correspondence Lessons, taken at your 
-v.. i, time, a grip of tho koyboard, a £raip of 
muaic-cOnatruction and *Me in raiding-, 

lhat will citable you to play realty brilliamly Gong 
Accom pan i rn * n t*, DanCo M u«i c, R a^t lm«, 
and. all llie inwui parable getns of the Masters. 

Thousands have done so during- 16 years, 

I h-;n. I j from ordinary music, yet so a ■...■<.■. > 
ejfct:tii , e are my mm hods as to save you two*tnlrds 
of tho n«ual pr«ct ice-time, and make every 
momont vital with interest and a sense of 
erowine mastery. 1 guarantee success 
to any ;ivtr^jie prison. 

Send Tor my book, "HMD, MUSCLE and KEYBOARD." 
It t\ plains .my in^iluxU, ami shows what bund Feds ot a)] 
W^-And slu^a say my System ba* done fjrtht-ir pjaying. 

Judge for yourse I r what It can do for you. I have an 

€q ■■■■• iiy t'$£ctit>£ C ou roe for Ado It Beg: i n n era 
/^""^L 7( f /id K/f*f not kptirtu a. note ie ±ia-*t, 
££ Wm \ * ModeriUfl Players "Your lou. h exiti-im* 
W r*| JLAiniiJKlii-iJ inr, 1 wnj* Aiitazed lu lm<L Low w. a k 

^, r -^jf iiin nut nf ofwiiTni mj ftupm went. How [«v«r 
-'-i yea before )* a myetery to ma."— 

U. N. iUutcrley Park"! 

—"1 iiFu ddighhil the 
wi>Lk j-on :i i ,-.-.. s n« me. [ 
[■liiy ull my nli3 ]-L- 1 p-s mid 
rtmliiM batter and with 
much, greater a***."— 

Mi- M K. (E. Us,,.-, r, :- V 
A Beginner: — "I Hnd 
Tine- liking a da light in- 
stead or & |Lud y *:,ii. I . ■. . H 
m acta ring lb* n alalia n 

WH 1 plflUUrfl, ygi| i\ 
lUitin fhriytliinK BO rtevtrlj-."— K. F. < '. lIUNtft»rdj. 
Send ninety a postcard sriln full address (Mrs., M ks f 
Rev., or Mr.), and the word Advanced, Moderate, Ele- 
mentary ur Beginner, as may best dr-striht your case,, 
and the l>oot shall be ghidty seni you by return. 

Mr. H. BECKER, 551* Brittol Houit, Holbem 
Viaducts London, EX-1. 


Atiorttd Qq w Sample Box 

Or post free t Serenpence, from Manufacturers 

M, MYERS & SON. Ld« Charlotte Street* 

by Google 


(""rw^nL'' Original from 





(See pag* iqi 


Vol. 55- 

MARCH, 1918. 

No. 327. 



Illustrated ty A, Gilbert, R.O.L 


N Friday morning it was to 
be observed that Dr. Marnley 's 
small, unkempt motor-car stood 
before Number One, Mayfield 
Crescent, and then, later on, 
before Number Twenty. 

Mayfield Crescent was a little 
half-moon of twenty pink-brick 
houses, which had been barely finished before 
the war. They stood on new ground, still grass- 
grown, and marked with the deep ruts of 
builders' catts. A broad, sandy track connected 
the rather forlorn Crescent with the main road, 
along which the trams ran through the coloured 
suburbs, right up to the grey heart of London, 

While little Dr. Marnley waited furiously out- 
side Number Twenty, he looked across the rough 
ground that faced the Crescent. Exactly opposite 
him was Number One, for the Crescent formed 
a semicircle. 

Over the" roof of Number One, half a mile 
across the common, in the hazy air of the chill 
winter morning, he could see the chimneys of 
March Lodge. 

Dr. Marnley scowled, and removed his gaze. 

The front door opened, and the doctor bounced 
into the house. A woman stood in the passage. 

" I got a message to visit Mrs. Paddle this 
morning," he shouted. " I'm overworked as 
it is." 

" Yes," said the woman, "lam Mrs. Paddle. 
It's truly terrible, doctor. My poor husband — 
he simply can't go to his work. It's the second 
night, too." 

Mrs. Paddle led the way upstairs to the front 
bedroom. An unshaven, haggard man lay in 
bed. Dr. Marnley surveyed him in silence. 
Then he scrutinized Mrs. Paddle. She had deep 
lines under her eyes. Her complexion was pale, 
and at intervals she twitched her brows nervously. 
She presented a vivid picture of exhaustion. 

" War strain." Dr. Marnley suddenly spoke 
with violence. " That's what it is — war strain. 
It's appalling. Muddle is sending us mad." 

He walked to the window. Once more, 
straight before him, he saw Number One, and 
directly beyond, the distant chimneys of March 

" He came back last night dead-tired," said 

y^ |v.~t2. Copyright in 

Mrs. Paddle, " and went straight to bed. He 
never closed his eyes, nor me either. It was just 
the same as the night before. Mrs. Bent, next 
door, told me that Mrs. Stick -at Number One 
had had it just the same, and I saw your car 
stop there first." 

She paused, and stared at her husband with 
dull eyes. 

" Yes," said Marnley, from the window. 
" Mrs. Stick, her two daughters, Rose and Joy, 
her son Albert, and her servant, Ann Wittington, 
went to bed on Wednesday night, after eating 
sardines, bread and butter, and cocoa for their 
supper. They were all in bed before eleven 
o'clock. They were all up by eight next morning. 
Not one of them had slept a wink. Last night it 
was the same. They stayed in bed to-day, with 
the exception of Ann Wittington, who is a 
powerful young woman with a squint." 

With a jerk he turned from the window, and 
began his examination at the bedside. Mr. 
Paddle seemed utterly exhausted. His eyes 
were lustreless. His fingers twisted restlessly. 
His face shone with perspiration. 

" Your pulse is one hundred and twenty," 
said the doctor. " You're not far off delirium 
of some sort. There's nothing to show for it # 
It's like typhoid — I thought it was typhoid at 
Number One — but it's not." 

He straightened his back and went to the 
window. His car in the roadway below him, 
containing his bag o| instruments, brought him 
an idea. He ran downstairs. 

When he returned, Mrs. Paddle was stretched 
on the bed beside her husband. Both of them 
seemed utterly indifferent to their surroundings. 

Marnley lit a large glass spirit-lamp, and we. t 
through some fussy ritual, muttering to himself. 
Within two minutes he had injected a dose of 
morphia into each of the Paddles. Five minutes 
later he was battling with two delirious people. 
Eventually he tore up a sheet, and bound them 
hand and foot. They lay looking at him with 
feverish eyes, while he sat on an inadequate 
bedroom chair and mopped his brow. 

Half an hour later, Marnley turned his car 
angrily in the direction of March Lodge. His 
face was flushed. 




ht thw top of the drive, before the front door, 
was a big Limousine. It was empty, and beside 
it stood a chauffeur in khaki, chewing a cigarette. 

Marnley was shown into a large open-spaced 
book -room, in blue, with white shelves. Near 
the fire were three men. Two sat on a couch 
together, and wore uniforms. The third reclined 
in a cane chair, and he was talking as Mam ley 
came in. He rose at once, 

iA This is Dr, Marnley/' he said. " Major Blot 
and Colonel Penny — Dr. MarrUey." 

The doctor scowled at the officers. 

" Took here," he said, immediately, " 1 don't 
want to quarrel with you, Mr. — er '* 

(i D r. Van 
Hook. " 

" Well, as I 
say, I don't 
want to quar- 
rel. But I dis- 

I l k e your 
methods in- 
tensely, I get 
a letter from 
you, saying 
that I will 
shortly have 
the Sticks and 
the Paddles as 
patients, and 
asking me to 
come and visit 
you to-day at 
twelve. Now, I 
don't call that 

I I 'cent behav- 
iour. It's mi- 
cann y + It's 
beastly. P> 

" Ye^." said 
Van Hook. 

" Well, you 
oughtn't to do 
it," Mam ley, 
still flushed, 
stared uneasily 
at him. Van 
Hook seemed 
quite inert. 
He was a big- 
g i s h man, 
fai r- haired., 

wearing loosely-cut clothe** and his expression 
was tranquil. He made no attempt to put his 
visitors at ease, or to explain to Marnley what 
his letter meant. 

After a silence, Colonel Penny spoke. He 
addressed Marnley. 

M Do I understand that you've never met 
Dr. Van Hook before ? " 

" Never in my life. I knew Stone when he 
lived here, but he got killed In France, and the 
place was let." 

" Sold,' 1 said Van Hook, 

" I always understood it had been let." 

Again there was silence. Since Van Hook 
said nothing, the Culonel continued to inter- 
rogate Marnley. 



by dOOglC 

" What made you come here this morning ? '* 

" That letter, and " Marnley stared at 

the Colonel. " Now, what are you up to ? I 
don't understand. Mind you, I'm no admirer 
of old men in uniforms. Brass isn't brains." 

The Colonel had cynical eyes and a white 
moustache. He looked at Van Hook ( who 
was looking at Marnley's hands, and smiled 
a little. 

" I do wish," he said/' that you would explain," 
Van Hook removed his gaze' strolled up the 
-room, and eventually came back and sat down. 
" Tell Dr, Marnley what we know so far/' 
said Major Blot to the Colonel. 

" Very well. 
It can be told 
in a word. 
Yesterday we 
received at the 
War Office a 
short com- 
mu nicatio n 
from Dr. Van 
Hook, stating 
that he had 
discovered a 
means of end- 
ing the war in 
a few days. Of 
course, we get 
many such 
letters from 
cranks, but I 
think it was 
the terseness of 
this one that 
impressed us. 
Anyhow, Blot 
and I came 
down. So far. 
Van Hook has 
been giving us 
a short history 
of the theories 
of sleep from 
earliest times. 
He had got as 
far as the 
when you came 
in, and was 
regaling us 
with the conceptions of the Ka. Blot and I 
have been quite interested, but, of course, sar- 
casm is lost on us." 
Van Hook looked up. 
xr Sarcasm ? " 

Colonel Penny made a bland gesture. 
" I fancied that you were going to lead on 
from that to War Office methods, and then 
finally to your idea/' he murmbred. " Was 
I wrong ? M 

Van Hook smiled engagingly. 
" You are charming '" he said. 
The Colonel seemed surprised, " But why 
did you tell us about sleep ? " 

Van Hunk looked no at Dr, Marnley inquir- 






" What's wrong with the Stick family ? " 
he asked. " * 

" Well, they can't sleep. That's the main 

" And what's wrong with the Paddles ? " 

" They can't sleep, either." 

Van Hook leaned back in his chair, and looked 
tranquilly at Colonel Penny. 

" Why can't they sleep ? " asked Major 
Blot, with an expression of sUght concern. 

" I don't know. But they can't. They 
haven't slept for two nights. I gave the Paddles 
morphia this morning and turned them into 
a couple of lunatics. They're trussed up side 
by side on their bed, and I'm going round there 
again as soon as I leave here." 

Marnley, looking very small, worried, and 
unkempt, began to walk about. 

" I don't understand," he said. " Why can't 
they sleep? And how the devil did you know 
that they would be my patients ? " He stopped 
before Van Hook. 

" Because you're the only doctor practising on 
this side of the common." 

" That's true." 

Marnley seemed mollified for a moment. 

" But that's not enough," he exclaimed, sud- 
denly. " How did you know they would be ill ? " 

" Because their houses lie in the beam," said 
Van Hook. 

" What beam ? " 

" The beam that is passing due east from my 
laboratory window at this moment, through 
Mrs. Stick's house, through Mr. Paddle's house, 
through Mr. Miller's house, across .the common — 
that's outside your area— down Wendle Lane, 
through the Wesleyan Chapel, through a block 
of tenement buildings, across Mortimer Street, 
through Foster's the grocer, through a cottage 
behind it, across a piece of waste land, through 
the house of a lady called Wilks, who is very ill 
at this instant, and finally across a goods yard. 
Here it loses its power and is apparently dis- 
persed. The goods yard is about three miles 
from here. With a larger beam " 

He broke off and gazed dreamily at the fire. 
The Colonel looked at Major Blot and nodded 
very slightly. Dr. Marnley drew up a chair 
close to Van Hook and stared at him, his lips 
compressed and his brows contracted. 

Major Blot took out a notebook. 

" The beam is focused so that its rays are 
parallel, I take it ? " he observed. 

M Yes." 

" It can be used like a searchlight, then, and 
fanned out to cover a wide area ? " 

" Yes." 

Major Blot made an entry. 

Some pent-up emotion escaped from Marnley. 

" Do you mean to tell me that you're deli- 
berately keeping the Sticks and the Paddles 
from sleeping ? " he demanded, violently. 

Van Hook nodded. 

" It's a public scandal ! How dare you ? 
It's absolutely criminal ! " 

Van Hook concentrated his attention on the 
spectacle of Marnley, who was bristling and 

Digitized by CjOOgle 

" It was necessary to select someone/* he 
said, calmly. " Supposing the beam was used 
in the war " 

" The war ! " exclaimed Marnley. " Don't 
talk to me of the war." He scowled at the 
Colonel. " Besides, what's the war got to do 
with it ? " 

" Suppose you were in the trenches and 
couldn't sleep a wink " 

" Ah, now you're implying that I should 
be in the trenches ! Why don't you address 
your innuendoes €0 these officers ? I'm not 
going to argue, Mr. Hook. I demand that you 
should stop this beam, or whatever it is. Sup- 
pose I came and worked a police-rattle under 
your bedroom window all night, wouldn't you 
kick up a shindy ? It's preposterous ! " He 
got up and went to the door. 

" But this is not a police-rattle," said Major 
Blot. " It's a beam." 

" I don't care what it is," shouted Dr. Marnley. 
"I'm a plain, common-sense man, and over- 
worked. I'm not like you. If those people 
don't sleep properly to-night, I'll have the 
police here to-morrow." He opened the door 
and looked back. " My advice to you is to 
look out." He nodded his head vehemently. 
" Yes — look out. Get on with the war — or 
look out." 

Electric with wrath, he rushed from the house, 
glared witheringly on the military chauffeur, 
cranked his engine, got a bad back-fire, cranked 
it again, and jolted off. 

" My first proposition," said the Colonel, " i* 
that we should visit either the Paddles or the 
Sticks, and Blot can make a few notes of their 

" Certainly," said Van Hook. " As military 
authorities, I don't think you'll have any diffi- 

The Colonel rose and took out a cigar-case. 
He offered it to Van Hook, who declined. " No, 
thanks, I smoke every other day. This is a 
day off." 

The Colonel eyed him, and came to some inner 
conclusion, for he nodded slightly a second time 
to Major Blot. 

" My second proposition," he continued, 
" is that you should not accompany us, but 
remain here." He took out his watch. " How 
far do these people live from here ? " 

" About five minutes by car." 

" Good. Xow will you cut off the beam in 
fifteen minutes from now? I want to test a 
little theory." 

Van Hook smiled. 

" Certainly. The theory is transparent, even 
to me, Colonel Penny." 

The two officers went into the hall and arrayed 
themselves in their coats. In the car, Major 
Blot spoke. 

"I'm inclined to be hopeful." 

" I'm not," said the Colonel. " You can't stop 
sleep. You can't interfere with Nature, Blot." 

" Nonsense," said Blot. " How can you say 
that ? If we had never interfered with Nature, 



• the narrow ban. 

U the 

t a squint. 

squire into the 
malady that — ■ 

z this house- 


c i, loudly. 


towards the top of 

narrow stairs, 

pi >m the 

e un* 

defs&ood that noi 

aere can sleep." 

aused, conscious 

had given a 

n o 
" Can we 
an inter 

-. . . 

lie tup land 
A woman* 

ith haggnxd 
and dishevelled 

- • . ■ ' 

• .' trim 
iwaying a 

w a bow, 

1 and I are 
jus to do all in 
power to a. 

us malady/" 
e m e r c 


t his 

u the 
rnment 5 rt a 

*itb ex- 

■] Penny and 

" You can have 

every confidence. ' ' 

bo be able to cure you/ 
■!. shrilly, "My God, 
i know what steep means ? I would give 
soul and honour to sleep an h 



A growling noise came from an adjoining 
room, and a shrill, hysterical laugh from a room 

Mrs. Stick staggered away to her bedroom. 
It was as if she were blind. She groped before 
her with her hands. 

Major Blot hurried to assist her. 

" Is your sight affected ? " he asked. 

" It's in waves," she muttered. " It's getting 
dark. It comes and goes — in another hour -I 
shall be mad." 

She lurched into her room and collapsed on 
the bed. Major Blot withdrew, and closed the 

44 Well ? " he whispered, keenly. 

" It looks as if I was wrong," replied Penny. 
" Good heavens, Blot, it's a terrible thing. I 
had no idea." 

Blot rubbed his hands silently. 

" It's magnificent," he said. " You've always 
slept like a rhinoceros, and you don't know what 
sleeplessness means. It's the crowning horror — 
if s hell. It's the devils of the deepest night let 
loose. High explosives and liquid flame are 
nothing to it. What's the time ? " 

" Another minute," said Penny. He tip-toed 
to a door and opened it gently. Across a bed a 
girl lay, clutching the clothes tightly in each 
hand. A second girl was on her knees before an 
arm-chair. The Colonel closed the door. 

" We're in the beam," said Blot. " Do you feel 
anything ? " 

" Nothing." 

" By Jove ! It's a marvellous weapon — silent, 
invisible, terrible." 

They waited, side by side, on the landing.. 
Suddenly the Major uttered a low exclamation. 

A regular sound had arisen. It increased 
swiftly in volume. It seemed to come from 
every side. 

" Snoring ! It's the release," said the Colonel. 
" Van Hook's beam has been turned off. Let's 
see if they're all asleep." 

They made an inspection of the rooms. Mrs. 
Stick, her son Albert, her two daughters, Rose 
and Joy, and her servant, Ann Wittington, 
had passed into a profound sleep — a deep 
coma — from which it was impossible to rouse 

As the Colonel left the house and got into the 
car, his hands trembled slightly. Major Blot 
was deeply engaged with his pencil and note- 
book. They drove straight back to March Lodge. 

When they entered the blue-and- white book- 
room, Van Hook was reading in his chair. 
Colonel Penny walked up to him. 

" We'll take up this sleep-beam, Dr. Van 
Hook. What are your terms ? " 

Van Hook looked up. 

" The beam is yours, Colonel. I merely wish 
to be allowed to take part in the fun." 

" Certainly, of course. Then you'll make the 
War Office a present of it ? " 

•• Yes." 

"Very handsome of you." The Colonel 
smoothed his moustache. " Extremely. It's a 

marvellous thing. That woman was within an 
ace of being crazy. A terrible weapon." 

" How long has the beam been turned on that 
house ? " asked Major Blot. 

" Forty-two hours." 

" But surely that isn't very long to go without 
sleep ? " 

Van Hook leaned back and reflected. 

" Well, the beam was turned on at six on 
Wednesday evening, so you must add about 
ten hours to the forty-two to cover the whole 
period of sleeplessness. That makes fifty-two 
hours without sleep. That may not seem so 
great, especially nowadays, when humanity is 
showing itself capable of such immense endur- 
ance, but there is a special factor about this 
beam. The kind of sleeplessness it induces is 
not comparable to that produced by ordinary 

He paused. 

" I've gone forty-four hours without sleep," 
said Major Blot, " at Ypres.'* 

" Yes, but not with the beam playing on you," 
said Van Hook. " You see, as far as I can make 
out, it doesn't produce merely a negative state 
— a lack of sleep. It has a positive effect as 
well. It produces a nervous irritation, accom- 
panied by a total and absolute inability to sleep, 
or even to become drowsy — a very exhausting 

Colonel Penny paced about the room, and 
Blot wrote in his notebook .steadily. 

" Does the beam penetrate all solids ? " asked 
the Colonel, suddenly. 

" Theoretically, it should pass through every- 
thing, save lead. It certainly goes through 
bricks, mortar, and earth. Would you like to 
examine the apparatus ? " 

Van Hook led the way out of the room, ffhey 
entered the laboratory. On a plain deal bench 
stood a square metal box; with a black funnel 
projecting from it. The box was connected by 
wires with a small dynamo worked by a gas- 
engine that stood in a corner. The dynamo was 

" The apparatus is simple," said Van Hook. 
" If you will sit down I will explain the principle. 
It depends on the stimulation, by a wave in the 
ether of a particular length, of a gland found in 
the brain — the pituitary gland. This gland, 
which is very small, is a corner-stone of normal 
health. Here is a diagram that shows its position 
very clearly. ..." 

An hour later Colonel Penny and Major Blot 
said farewell to Van Hook. 

" On Monday afternoon, then," said the 
Colonel, as he got into the car, " we meet at 
Charing Cross Station. Blot will arrange about 
the power if you bring a couple of your instru- 

* » * * * 

On Monday evening, at eight o'clock, Van 
Hook was standing on high ground overlooking 
an area of twinkling lights below him. He was 
wrapped in a big coat, for the wind was keen. 
On the road behind him stood a motor lorry, 
from which came the hum of a dynamo. Colonel 
Penny and Major Blot were each occupied with 




what resembled large cameras on tripods. A 
number of Staff officers stood round Van Hook. 

" The camp runs due east and west," said 
one, " and the hill is north of it." 

"It makes no difference," said Van Hook; 
" we are a mile away from it, and the huts 
cover half a mile of ground. One beam would 
be enough, but we'll use two." 

Major Blot came up. 

" Have you made the connection ? " 

" Yes, the beams are on now." 

From the huts below them came the sound 
of men singing. A bugle rang out clearly. 
Lights twinkled to and fro, and the activity oi 
the camp went on undisturbed. Colonel Penny 
plucked Blot by the sleeve of his coat. 

" I've got qualms," he muttered. " It seems 
impossible to believe. The General is openly 

In the darkness a keen wind blew past them. 
The dynamo on the lorry hummed steadily, and 
the two tripods Were faintly visible in the star- 
light, with their black boxes pointing to the 
camp below. 

" We need not stay any longer, gentlemen," 
said Van Hook. " Let us go back to the town. 
To-morrow you will be able to satisfy yourselves 
that the beam has the power I claim for it. Our 
next experiment will be in France." 

" Do you mean to say that those men in the 
camp down there won't sleep to-night ? " asked 
the General, irritably. 

" I do. None of them will sleep a wink," 
returned Van Hook. 

" Rubbish ! " said the General. 

In silence the party made their way down the 
hillside towards the town. 

Three weeks later Van Hook found himself in 
France. Twenty instruments for the production 
of the beam accompanied him, under the loving 
care of Colonel Penny and Major Blot. The 
struggle had been severe. On the day after the 
experiment on the military camp, the General 
had personally inspected the lines, and though 
told the same tale of a sleepless night on all 
sides, had refused to believe that the cause had 
lain in the two black boxes on tripods up on the 

" It's trickery," he had exploded, " infernal 
trickery ! " 

" More like infernal, magic," Colonel Penny 
had muttered, and then, aloud, he had asked 
the General how he explained the night of 
insomnia in a healthy camp. 

" A put-up job, likely," had been the irritable 

The experiment had been repeated with the 
same result. The General remained obstinate. 
Major Blot had worked indefatigably, explaining 
to department after department the nature of 
the new miracle. After a week of hard work, 
the outlook seemed dark. It was impossible to 
appeal to the Press, as the matter had to be 
kept secret. At the end of the second week the 
future was brighter. A grudging consent was 
given. A small experiment on the Front could 

be tried. In the meanwhile, with the aid of two 
mechanics, Van Hook had been turning out the 
beam-apparatus as speedily as possible. 

They had been sent to a quiet part of the line 
where, behind tremendous fortifications, the 
deposing armies waited. There was an occasional 
outburst of firing. Innumerable ^observation 
balloons watched the scene below intently. 
Tranquillity prevailed as long as no abnormrj 
movements occurred. 

For four days Van Hook and his colleagues 
were busy. The black boxes were spaced out at 
intervals of two hundred yards in the front line 
trenches. A sector of four thousand yards was 
thus brought under the influence of the beam. 

On a Tuesday evening the beams were turned 

The same evening Colonel Penny, Major Blot, 
and Van Hook went to Headquarters. 

" On Thursday morning, at daybreak, the 
troops in the sector between Beaunares and 
Villers can go over the top and take the Contrepal 
Heights for the asking," said Colonel Penny to 
the Staff. " Do you corroborate that, Van 
Hook ? " 

Van Hook nodded. 

The Staff were perplexed. 

" Won't the enemy have something to say 
about that ? " asked one. 

" No," said Major Blot. " The enemy will be 

" They may wake up." 

" They will be in a state of coma, of absolute 
unconsciousness," said Colonel Penny. " I've 
seen the condition. It's like opium poisoning." 

" Well," said the General, " we've got orders 
to let you try your experiment, and to be devilish 
careful at the same time. As a matter of fact, we 
were planning a little attack on Thursday." He 
scratched his head, and pulled a map towards 
him. Colonel Penny bent over it with him, and 
laid his finger on a spot. 

" Here is Beaunares," he said. " The beam's 
influence runs well to the north of that — : 
that will protect the left flank, for no 
machine-guns or artillery will work from that 
direction on Thursday morning. The same 
applies to the right flank. If the attack is swift, 
you'll get the heights without a man lost before 
they can rush up troops from the areas beyond 
the beam." 

" When will the enemy wake up ? " 

Colonel Penny looked at Van Hook. 

" Not for some hours," said Van Hook. *' The 
Sticks didn't wake up till next morning." 

" I am sceptical, gentlemen," said the General, 
frankly, " and I will therefore proceed with my 
plans without relying on your beam. The 
bombardment begins. to-morrow morning." 

" A preliminary bombardment is unnecessary, 
sir," said Blot, earnestly. " It might lead to 
fresh troops being brought up at the last moment, 
who have been unaffected by the beam. We 
three guarantee that the affair on Thursday will 
be a walk-over without any artillery' preparation." 

A long argument ensued. In the end it was 
decided to postpone the original plan for two 
days, and give Van Hook's beam a chance. 




■f T 

* '*J** A* 




I shall order a few parties to go forward at 
dawn on Thursday/' said the General "If 
tiey meet with resistance they are to retire at 
He thought for a moment. M Of eon 
thrv'Il have to retire/' he added. 

n Hook smiled. " I think not," 
" Well, sir, if they don't have to retire it will 
mean nothing less than that you've found the 
way to end the war in a week or two/ 1 cried the 
General. " A ridiculous idea ! " 

For two nights and one day the beams shed 
thvtr strange influence on the enemy. Complete 

tranquillity reigned on that part of the Front, 
Just before sunrise on Thursday morning the 
twenty beams were cut ofL A lew minutes later, 
in the growing light, small parties of men 
advanced across the open and entered the enemy 
trenches. Not a shot was fired. From the first 
line they passed to the second and to the third. 
The guns were silent. In the broad light ot 
the morning they stood on the heights of 

The telephone wires to Headquarters suddenly 
teemed with amazing messages. 



Illustrated by Henry Evison. 


HE romance of mystery is 
universal in its appeal, and 
there is no romance which has 
such a permanent place in the 
memory of man as t lie murder 
mystery which the intelligence 
and the skill of expert investi- 
gation have failed to fathom. 
fi Who committed the murder ? " has always 
been a favourite theme with the writers of 
sensational fiction* 

When the first details of the discovery of a 
murder are published in the Press and no clue 
to the author of the crime can be given, it 
instantly becomes a topic of general conver- 

When the weeks and the months and the 
years go by and Justice fails to bring the deed 
home to its author, it takes its place among 
the unsolved mysteries of crime. But it is not 
forgotten. Not only among criminologists is it 
a constant subject for discussion and debate, 
but among the members of the general public 
there are thousands who stilt retain a vivid 
remembrance of the affair and are keenly 
interested whenever in a newspaper or a maga* 
line a writer re -tells the story oi the mystery or 
puts forward a new theory with regard to it. 
The mystery in which the crime was shrouded 
has made it immortal. 

History teems with these murder mysteries. 
What became of Benjamin Bathurst, who was 
sent by the British "Government on a secret 
embassy to the Court of Vienna in 1804 ? With 
the Peace that was concluded at Schtinbmnn 
in that year, Bat hurst's mission came to an end* 
but knowing that he had incurred the bitter 
animosity of Napoleon our envoy set out on 
his journey to England in the assumed name of 
Koch and pretended to be a travelling merchant. 
He decided to make his way to London vid 
Berlin and the north of Germany. 

On November 25th, i&oj, about noon, Bathurst 
arrived at Pcrleberg with post-horses. After 
spending some hours at the inn, where he wrote 
several letters and dined, he ordered the horses 
to be put to, and was ready to start at nine 
o'clock in the evening. He was seen standing 
by the side of the horses watching his port- 
manteau being replaced on the carriage, and the 
next moment he had disappeared. And from 

by LiOOgle 

that moment to this the mystery of his dis- 
appearance has remained unsolved- 

Was he seized and carried off and murdered 
by the agents of Napoleon ? The Times un- 
hesitatingly charged Napoleon with the murder 
of our Ambassador, and as late as the year 1862 
the Spectator retold the story and repeated the 
charge that Bathurst had been done away with 
by French police agents. One thing is certain. 
Bathurst never returned to England, and the 
mystery of his fate has never been solved. 

Who was Caspar Hauser ? Why was he 
murdered, and who murdered him ? His birth, 
his death, and his real parentage are enveloped 
in a mystery which no amount of research has 
been able to pierce. 

His story, as far as it is known, begins on the 
26th of May, i8iS, in a street in Nuremberg* 
He was dressed as a peasant and was limping 
painfully along. When, attracted by his curious 
appearance t a citizen spoke to him, the crippled 
lad held out a letter addressed to the captain 
of the 4th Squadron of the 6th Regiment oi 
Bavarian Light Horse* 

In the letter some person unknown asked 
that the lad might; be admitted into the Captain's 
troop. The writer added that he was a poor 
labourer and that Caspar had been left with 
him as an infant by a poor girl who had stated 
that the child's fatheT was in the 6th Regiment 
of the Light Horse, and was dead, When he 
was seventeen he was to be sent to Nuremberg 
to join his fate father's regiment* 

When the boy was examined he was found to 
be of medium height, broad -shouldered and 
well-built, his skin white, his limbs well moulded, 
and his hands small and beautifully formed; 
but his limbs had been crippled by close con- 
finement in a narrow space, and his eyes were 
evidently unaccustomed to light. 

The boy declared that he had been taken out 
of a cellar by a masked man who had put him 
on the road to Nuremberg- The boy's strange 
story was noised abroad, and the rumour gained 
ground that the lad was of noble origin. 

Among the persons who became interested 
in him was an English nobleman. Earl Stanhope, 
who was then in Germany. He had the boy 
instructed and well brought up. Caspar even- 
tually received the appointment of Clerk to the 
Registrar's Court of Appeal. Lord Stanhope 





was so pleased with him that he decided to take 
Mm to England. 

On the evening of the 14th of December, 1833, 
as Caspar was on his way to his home, a stranger 
spoke to. him and told him that he could reveal 
his parentage. The stranger led the young 
man into the palace gardens, plunged a dagger 
into his side* and instantly disappeared. 

Who was Caspar Hauser ? The popular idea 
at the lime was that he wag the elder son of the 
Grand Duke Karl oi Baden and his wife, the 
Grand Duchess Stephanie Tascher, Napoleon's 
adopted daughter. The Grand Duke Karl's 
heir was his uncle Ludwig, Ludwig is supposed 
to have stolen Caspar when a few weeks old and 
substituted a dead child in his stead. Later 
on, when the young man was about to be taken 
to England by a powerful protector, Ludwig had 
him murdered. 

But that is only a theory. No one to this day 
has really solved the mystery of the murder of 
Caspar Hauser. 

And the mystery of Meyerli ng y the tragedy of 
the Crown Prince Rudolph and the beautiful 
Mary Vetsera I When the horror happened nearly 
thirty years ago there were a dozen theories as 
to the solution of the mystery. There are a 
dozen theories to-day. Was it a love tragedy or 
a political double murder ? 

It is known that the Emperor had discovered 
that his unhappy son was plotting for the throne 
of- Hungary, and there was a suggestion that 

by Google 

the Crown Prince believed that he was in danger 
of arrest and that he would be kept in seclusion 
as a lunatic. 

Did he himself kill the unhappy girl who was 
found shot in the head and lying dead by his 
side, and then did he commit suicide ? Or after 
the drunken orgy which had taken place in the 
shooting-box that night, were Rudolph and 
Mary Vetsera murdered by one of the party and 
the discharged revolver placed in the Crown 
Prince's dead hand to give the affair the appear- 
ance of a love tragedy ? 

The truth has never been revealed. The 
mystery of Meyeriing is still unfathomed and 
will probably remain a mystery to the end of 

Did Oscar Slater, the man who was sentenced 
to death and is now undergoing the commuted 
sentence of penal servitude for life, murder 
old Miss Gilchrist in her flat in Glasgow, or was 
his conviction a miscarriage of justice, and is 
the real murderer still at large ? Sir Arthur 
Conan Doyle believes in Slater's innocence, 
and 1 share the distinguished criminologist's 
opinion that the mystery of that murder has 
never been cleared up. 

It is always difficult to persuade the powers 
that be that the hand of Justice has erred, ft 
took me seven years to prove the innocence 
of Adolf Beck, and he would in all probability 
have served a further sentence foi another series 
of offences which he did not commit had not a 

Original from 



police-officer accidentally discovered the real John 
Smith in a cell at Tottenham Court Road police- 

It has happened over and over again that a 
murderer has remained unsuspected to the end of 
bis days because the police have concentrated 
all their efforts on proving that somebody else 
was the guilty party. 

This may have been the case in the mys- 
terious crime which is known as the Cannon 
Street Muider. 

The victim was Mrs. Sarah Millson, a widow 
who was the house keeper on the premises of 
Messrs. Bevington, the well-known leather 
merchants, at No* z, Cannon Street* That 
Mrs. Millson was a widow with a secret of some 
kind in connection with her past was made 
pretty clear by the facts which came to light 
at the inquest, 

She had been married twice. Her second 
husband, Millson, had been in the employ of 
Messrs. Bevington. He died some years before 
the murder. Her first husband, James Swan, 
was a handsome, fast-living man, who, after his 
marriage, set up as a grocer, and through his 
habits became bankrupt. lie and his wife 
separated. Swan went to America, and was 
supposed to have died there. His wife believed 
that he was dead ; at any rate, in the certificate 
of her marriage with Millson she was described 
as a widow, 

I remember some years afterwards discussing 
the case with my friend F. W. Robinson, the 
author of " Owen, A Waif/' and " Mattie, 
A Stray/' and the distinguished novelist told 
me that the murdered housekeeper of Cannon 
Street was just the sort of housekeeper that 
would have suited him for one of his romances 
of London hie. He knew that his readers 
would be keenly interested in such a woman 
from the start, and would at once begin to 
build up their own theories as to the secret 
that haunted her. 

For some days previous to the murder, accord- 
ing to the evidence of the cook who lived on 
the premises, Mrs. Millson had been nervous 
and agitated. On the night of the murder, 
April nth, 1 866, immediately alter the workers 
and the office staff had leit, the porter of the 
establishment put out the lights in the lobby, 
locked the doors, and gave the keys, which 
included that of the safe* to the housekeeper, 
who bade him good night and let htm out at 
the front door. 

Some time afterwards the cook, who was 
upstairs in her bedroom, heard the bell ring. 
Mrs. Millson t who was in the dining-room t 
called up, ,p It's all right, cook, it J s for me; I 
know who it is," and went down the stairs and 
across the hall to the entrance, Presently 
the cook came down from her bedroom and 
found that Mrs. Millson had not come upstairs 
again. That at first did not make the cook 
uneasy. She knew that the housekeeper had 
more than once remained for some time talking 
with a caller at the door. 

an hour had elapsed and there was 
rf Mrs + Millson, the cook became a 

by Google 

Little anxious and went downstairs to see if 
Mis. Millson was all right. There, a horrible 
sight met her eyes. The housekeeper was 
lying dead at the foot of the stairs, and the blood 
was flowing freely from some terrible wounds 
in her head. On the table in the hall were the 
dead woman's shoe*, which she had apparently 
removed before going to the door, and the house- 
keeper's key$ were lying, not near the body, but 
some distance higher up the stairs* 

Terrified at her ghastly discovery, the cook, 
passing the body, rushed to the front door and 
flung it open* There on the doorstep a woman 
was crouching. She might have been sheltering 
from the rain, which was falling heavily at the 
time. The cook implored the woman to come 
in and help, but the woman exclaimed, " Oh, 
dear, dear I I couldn't do that ! " and hurried 
away. The scene was a ghastly one !or the cook 
to contemplate alone. The gas in the fanlight 
over the door had been turned off, By whom ? 

Presently a constable and a doctor arrived 
on the scene. All the doctor could do was to 
pronounce the woman dead. A crowbar, 
such as is used to open packing -cases, was 
found lying near the body. The wounds cm the 
woman's head had probably been inflicted with 
this. A similar crowbar was missing from the 

What was the motive for the murder ? That 
never transpired, but some very interesting 
information quickly came into the possession 
of the police. 

A Mrs. Robbins, who was housekeeper at 
No. i F Cannon Street, had come home at ten 
minutes past ten on the night of the murder. 
As she was letting herself in she heard the door 
of No, 2 slam violently. She turned her head 
and saw a man coming down the steps* He 
passed her. He was dressed in dark clothes 
and wore a high hat* The light of the lamp 
in her own hall shone on the man's face, amd 
she saw his features distinctly. He walked in 
a hurried manner and was leaning forward as 
he went along. 

The cook stated that a man frequently called 
on Mrs. MiDson at night. He would ring the 
t^eU and Mrs. Millson would go down to the do«r» 
Once Mrs. Millson had borrowed two pounds 
from her just before this man came, but the 
money had been repaid, 

A search of the dead woman's boxes brought 
to light a letter signed " George Terry/' The 
letter was a demand for money, and it informed 
Mrs. Millson that unless a certain sum was paid 
at once complaint would be made to her employer, 
Mr. Bevington. With this letter was a receipt 
signed " William Denton/' 

George Terry was soon discovered to be an 
inmate of St. Olavc's Workhouse. He explained 
that his wife had known Mrs. Millson, and that 
had induced hira to get her a Joan of thirty-five 
pounds from a Mrs, Webber. £n order to get 
the money back he had employed a man named 
William Denton to call on Mrs, Millson at Cannon 
Street. Denton had received sums on account 
at various times and had signed the receipt 
and brought back the money, 

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The police were not long in discovering "Wil- 
liam Denton." He was a man named William 
Smith > who lived at Eton. William Smith 
was taken to the police-station and identified 
by Mrs. Robbing as the man she had seen in 
Cannon Street on the night of the murder, 
and a boat-builder at Eton came forward to 
say that on the evening of the murder, about 
seven o'clock, he 
had met Smith 
hurrying towards 
Slough Station in 
order to catch the 
seven - forty-three 
train to Padding- 
ton. Now, this 
train arrived at 
eight - forty, and 
that would have 
given the man 
plenty of time to 
reach Cannon 
Street between 
nine and ten 

But William 
Smith was able 
to bring twenty 
witnesses, many 
of them of un- 
character, who 
accounted for 
every minute of 
his time on the 
evening of April 
1 rth. He had 
spent the entire 
evening at a local 
playing dominoes 
for pints of beer* 
So complete was 
the zlibi, that the 
jury, w ithout 
leaving the box, 
returned a verdict 
of f< Not Guilty," 
and the judge, in 
discharging the 
priso ner p sai d : 
'* You have been 
found not guilty, 
but it is due to 
say to you that 
you are not only 
found not guilty, 
but proved abso- 
lutely innocent." 

And from that day to this no clue to the 
murderer of Sarah Millson has been discovered, 
AH the efforts of the police to solve the mystery 
have been in vain, and it is a mystery still. 

The mystery of the murder of Mr. Charles 
Bravo, who died poisoned by an unknown hand 
at the Priory, Balaam, on April i8th f 1876, has 
in it all the elements of a Gaboriau novel. 

Mr, Bravo, a young barrister, had married 

Digitized by l^( 


a well-to-do and charming young widow, 
Florence Ricardo, Previous to her marriage 
with Bravo, Mrs. Ricardo had had a romance 
of an intimate character with Dr, Gully, a well- 
known medical man who had retired from 
practice after a long and honourable career, 
with an ample fortune* 

The young barrister knew all about the 

"romance." Mrs. 
Ricardo before 
her marriage had 
told him every- 
thing, and it had 
been agreed that 
no reference 
should ever again 
be made to it by 
either of them, 

But there was 
another person in 
the secret. That 
was Mrs. Cox, a 
faded, but strong- 
minded widow # 
who had been 
Mrs, R i c a r d o*s 
friend and paid 
companion. Mrs. 
Cox passed into 
the Bravo house- 
hold, but that 
did not deter her 
from communi- 
cating from time 
to time with her 
mistress's old 
flame, Dr, Gully, 
who had rather 
unwisely settled 
down not far 
from the Priory, 
Bravo was an 
honourable, but 
h e adst rong p 
jealous, and 
hasty man, and 
whenever he and 
his wife had a tiff, 
the spectre of 
Dr* Gaily arose 
to haunt him, 
Whenever he was 
in an unhappy 
mood he saw Dr, 
Gully as the evU 
genius of his 
wedded life and 
taunted Ins wile 
with her past : but the wife who was loyally 
devoted to her husband, was long-suffering 
and forgiving. This, the letters that had 
been preserved and were produced later on h 
proved beyond all possible doubt. 

There came a time when Mr. Bravo thought 
they were spending too much money. He 
advised his wife to economize, and suggested 
that they should ^et rid of Mrs- Cox. He 





wanted to get rid of Mrs- Cox. She knew all 
about Dr. Gully, 

On the night of April 13th, 1876, the little 
dinner party at Balham consisted of three 
people, Mr. and Mrs. Bravo and Mrs, Cox. 
There was wirie at dinner, and Mr. Bravo drank 
burgundy and the ladies drank sherry, 

Mrs, Bravo was not very welL She went to 
bed early. Mr. Bravo sat smoking for a time and 
then went up to his room, which was next to his 
wife's. A little 
later he n"is heard 
calling out/ 1 Flo- 
rence, Florence I" 
hot water I " Mrs, 
Bravo was asleep, 
but Mrs. Cox was 
not. She went at 
once to Mr, Bravo' S 
room. He was 
evidently ill, so she 
roused Mrs. Bravo, 
who put on a 
dressing-gown and 
went to her hus- 

He was lying 
stretched out on 
the floor near the 
window, and Mrs + 
Cox was rubbing 
his chest- He 
looked up and saw 
his wife, and ex- 
claimed, " I am in 
terrible agony 1 " 

Three doctors 
came, one after 
the other, to the 
Priory p and Mrs, 
Bravo sent Mrs, 
Cox to London to 
bring Sir William 
Gull down at once. 
There was no doubt 
in the mind of the 

doctors that Mr. Bravo was the victim of a 
violent irritant poison, and that he was a doomed 
man. Sir William Gull, when the end was near, 
told the patient that he was a dying man, 
and implored him to tell the truth. Had he 
taken poison himself ? Charles Bravo, with a 
full knowledge of all that his answer would mean, 
declared that he had taken nothing but a little 
laudanum for his neuralgia. 

The inquest revealed the fact that the cause 
of death was antimony administered in the 
form of tartar emetic, and the doctor's opinion 
was that the poison had been administered 
in the burgundy Mr. Bravo drank at dinner, 
The coroner's jury delivered an open verdict. 
and there was a second inquiry in which the 
highest legal talent in the kingdom represented 
the various interests. 





This inquiry was one long agony to Florence 
Bravo. She knew that she was suspected. 
She knew that the pitiful story of her life would 
be dragged into the light of day for all the world 
to read, 

Mrs, Cox, her quiet companion, made some 
sensational statements in the witness-box. She 
declared that Bravo, when she first went to 
him and found him in agony, had said to her, 
44 I have taken poison for Dr. Gully, Don J t 

tell Florence," She 
also declared that 
the intimacy of 
Florence Kicardo 
and Dr. Gully had 
been an innocent 
one, but counsel 
compelled her to 
admit that she was 
lying, and from 
that moment she 
was looked upon as 
an untrustworthy 

I remember that 
during the twenty* 
three days the 
inquest lasted 
nothing but the 
Bravo case was 
talked of + The 
Evening Standard 
published a full 
report of the in- 
quiry day by day, 
and the paper 
sold like wildfire. 
People rushed out 
of their houses to 
buy it as the 
news-boys shouted 
the special edition, 
along the street. 

The jury even- 
tually found that 
Charles Bravo had 
not committed suicide, and that he had not died 
by misadventure. He had been wilfully murdered 
by the administration of tartar emetic, but there 
was not sufficient evidence to fix the guilt upon 
any person or persons. 

Sir George Lewis, who received a fee of a 
thousand pounds from Mr. Bravo's mother 
to watch the proceedings, formed a very strong 
opinion on the case. It was always believed 
that he actually knew who the guilty party was. 
Whoever it was, had an opportunity of tam- 
pering with the burgundy that Charles Bravo 
drank on the fatal night at dinner. But no 
evidence was adduced to fix the guilt upon 
anyone, and 50 the Bravo case remains not 
only a thrilling romance of love and jealousy , 
but a never-to-be-forgotten unsolved mystery 
of crime. 

[To be continued.) 

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Original from 



Illustrated hy Lewis Baumer. 

OSTYN NIX is a Success, 
He is probably the most 
successful Success now before 
the public. What his income 
may be no man knows — 
no, not even the Commis- 
sioners of Inland Revenue — 
but it is very large. Indeed, so large is 
it that Mostyn bas'no time now to write 
any more plays, his days ,being too fully 
occupied with investing the enormous sums 
which keep rolling in from those he has 
already written. 

But, had it not been fox Miss McVitty, 
Mostyn's income would to this day have 
been no more than the ten guineas a week 
which, before he met her, was what he used 
to receive from a weekly periodical for 
writing a couple of columns of snappy obser- 
vations on happenings of the day. 

Inquire of Mostyn to what he ascribes 
his success, and he will tell you that he puts 
it down to having been unable, at a crucial 
period in his existence, to raise so pitiful a 
sum as twelve pounds ten. shillings. 

But that, of course, is all nonsense. His 
success is due to Miss McVitty. 

No, reader, you are wrong. Your romantic 
imagination has led you astray. On reading 
the preceding paragraph you probably said 
to yourself, in your cunning way, " Ah, ha ! 
Mostyn Nix loved Miss McVitty. The beauti- 
ful young creature inspired him," etc., etc. 

Wrong — all wrong. Miss McVitty, though 
indubitably a creature, was neither young 
nor beautiful, and Mostyn did not love her 
at all. On the contrary he hated her. He 
hates her still. He lies awake at night, 
hating her and working out ingenious schemes 
for getting rid of her, which he never has 
the courage to put into practice. 

Miss McVitty is Mostyn's secretary. 

Bitterly does he curse the day that he 
took her into his employ. 

It was Iris Honeywell who first put the 
idea into his head. 

This time, reader, you are right. Iris 
Honeywell was a beautiful young creature, 

by Google 

if you like ; and she and Mostyn were 

Actually, it was not Iris, but her mother, 
who was responsible for the trouble about 
Miss McVitty. 

" You two had better get married," Mrs. 
Honeywell had said, one night, after Mostyn 
and Iris had kept her up for two hours 
after her usual time for going to bed while 
they said good-bye in the hall. 

" Oh, yes, let's ! " cried Mostyn, enthu* 
siastically. Iris was all* for it, too. They 
wondered why they had not thought of it 
before. The two sat down, as happy as 
a pair of love-birds, arranging where they 
would be married, whom they would ask 
to the wedding, where they would spend 
their honeymoon, and where they would 
live when they came back from it. Iris 
had marked down a perfect little duck of 
a house in Kensington Gore (rent not more 
than three hundred a year at the outside) 
which she felt sure would suit them. Mostyn, 
after hearing her description of it, agreed 
with her; and got quite depressed at the 
thought of having to go back to his poky 
bachelor chambers when there was a heavenly 
nest like that waiting for them. 

Altogether they got so carried away by 
their enthusiasm that they wanted to be 
married the next Tuesday. 

And then that sordid, prosaic old creature, 
Mrs. Honeywell, spoilt their young dream by 
putting to Mostyn some dreary but searching 
questions about his financial position. 

Mostyn mentioned the weekly ten-ten 
which he drew from The Universe, for the 
snappy columns before mentioned. 

Mrs. Honeywell seemed to think that this 
sum was merely the prelude, the overture, as 
it were. When she discovered that it was the 
entire piece her lips tightened ominously. 

" No daughter of mine shall marry without 
a proper settlement," she declared, after 
fc. few other observations, the general trend 
of which was that a young man who had 
less than five thousand pounds a year, drawn 
from gilt-edged securities, was little better 

Original from 



than a criminal, " I was fool enough to 
marry without a settlement ; and look how 
I have suffered." 

Mrs. Honeywell's sufferings had consisted 
of being extremely well fed, clothed, and 
housed throughout her married life and of 
being left very comfortably off at her hus- 
band's death. They had left an indelible 
mark upon her. 

" I shall have to take off my coat and do 
some hard slogging at something," said 
Mostyn, gloomily, when the old lady had 
withdrawn, after a bleak, but clear t intima- 
tion that unless his financial position became 
a good deal more stable 
within a very short space of 
time a marriage would most 
certainly not take place, 

Iri s agreed — e ven more 
gloomily. She 
had never seen 
much hard work 
done, but she 
had a vague idea 
that it took up a 
certain amount 
of a man's time — 
time that could 
be so much more 
pleasantly em- 
ployed in trot ting 
her about ant] 
amusing her, 

" How long 
would it take you to write 
something which would nuke 
a lot of money ? M she in- 
quired, with a depressed note 
in her voice. 

Mostyn was not quite clear ; 
but he was not optimistic on 
the subject, 

" You see, the mere process 
of putting the stuff down on 
paper takes up such a deuce 
of a time," he explained, 

11 Why not get a secretary— somebody 
who can write shorthand very quickly ? M 
suggested Iris. 

Mine ilia Miss McVitty, 

Iris found her in the 'Morning Post. On 
the whole, it was one of the un luckiest 
discoveries in history — worse even than 
that of gold in South Africa, 

Miss McVitty's references could only be 
described as formidable- Her last engage- 
ment had been with Sir James Garratt, 
the eminent Scotch dramatist. 

Iris regarded this as a very happy augury 
and insisted upon Mostyn securing her by 
telegram. Unhappy girl ! She little knew. 

Mostyn was in bed when Miss McVitty 
arrived on her first morning. It was the 
last time in his life that he ever stayed in 
bed after ten o'clock. Henceforward he 
either went to bed 
overnight sufficiently 
early to be a hie to 
rise in time to receive 
Miss McVitty , or else 
he did not go to 
bed at all. But he 

by Google 


was there. Oh, yes, most certainly he was 

11 I was lying peacefully asleep/' he used 
to say afterwards, when describing what 
he always alludes to as ** the tragedy of my 
life/' '* when suddenly I began to dream 
that I was at the North Pole. The cald 
became more and more intense, until at last 
it woke me up. I looked out of the window* 
Outside the sun was shining brightly and 
something which, had I not felt so absolutely 
chilled, I should have taken for a heat-haze, 
Original from 



was quivering in the air. And yet, inside, 
the room felt like a refrigerator. I got up, 
shivering, and went into the sitting-room for 
some brandy, thinking I must be ill. And 
there she was I Miss McVitty ! 

" * Gude morrrning,' she said. That's all. 
Simple words — nothing in them as you or 
I might speak them; but as Miss McVitty 
said them, I tell you they simply made my 
blood stop circulating altogether." 

At this point Mostyp used generally to 
break down and have to be sent home in a 

When he had recovered a little from the 
ague of terror into which he had been 
thrown by the unexpected apparition of 
Miss McVitty, Mostyn faltered out an apology 
for being so late. 

" I had a very bad headache when I 
woke up this morning." 

" Oh ! " was aD Miss McVitty said. Then 
she sniffed. 

Mostyn was to discover very shortly 
that Miss McVitty's two chief weapons for 
the battle of life were (i) Looks; and (2) 
Sniffs ; and right well could she use them. 
Her look would have caused a stampede 
amongst the cowboys on a Western ranch. 
When she sniffed one wanted to run round 
and take cover. Sometimes she looked 
and sniffed simultaneously, and then the 
effect was devastating. 

11 If you suffer from headaches you should 
take six grains of quinine/' said Miss McVitty. 
" Sir James Garratt always did." She 
made a note — " Quinine " — on the pad in 
front of her. Mostyn watched her with a 
sinking heart. He knew — as well as he 
knew his own name — that quinine, the very 
thought of which made him sick, was to 
be his portion in life hereafter. 

" I presume," continued Miss McVitty, 
looking at him steadily through her glasses, 
" that you will go through your mail furrst 
— before you start the day's worrrk ? Sir 
James Garratt always did that/' she added, 
as Mostyn showed some signs of hesitation ; 
" it's the best plan." 

Of course, if Sir James Garratt always 
did it, why, that settled it. At the same time 
Sir J. Garratt's method of arranging his day 
differed in some essentials from Mostyn's. 
In the first place, Mostyn never went through 
his mail at all. He never wrote a letter or, 
for the matter of that, opened one. This 
system, as he would point out to friends 
when they inquired indignantly why he had 
vouchsafed no reply to their kindly invita- 
tions to dinner, greatly simplified life. Of 
Vol w.-ta 

by L^OOgle 

course, one occasionally missed something 
pleasant — such as a jolly dinner — by throwing 
one's letters, unopened, on to the fire ; but 
that was more than counterbalanced by the 
amount of annoyance one was saved. 

In the second place what did this alarming 
Scotchwoman mean by that sinister phrase, 
" the day's worrrk " ? Did she imagine he 
was some sort of machine which was wound 
up and then went on for so many hours 
without stopping ? A day's work, indeed ! 
What time would that leave for taking Iris 
out to lunch ? Yes, and for that round of 
golf he bad arranged to play in the afternoon 
with Fred Simmonds ? Dash it all, I mean 
to say ! 

He observed with consternation that Miss 
McVitty had neatly slit with a paper-knife 
the envelopes which lay in a pile upon his 
table, and was now taking out their contents* 

" Don't bother about those, Miss McVitty," 
he said, hastily. " Chuck 'em in the fire* I 
always do. There's nothing in 'em." 

Miss McVitty looked at him. That's all. 
Just looked. No more. 

" Ye'd better attend to this one, Fm 
thinking," she observed, in her quiet, im- 
placable voice. " It's important." 

She pushed over to him a terse typewritten 
communication, headed in menacing red ink 
" Final Notice." It was from his landlord, 
informing Mostyn that, unless he forwarded 
per return a cheque for the three quarters* 
rent which was now owing) proceedings would 
immediately be taken. 

" But this is all nonsense ! " protested 
Mostyn, querulously. " I can't possibly owe 
the fellow three quarters' rent. If I do, why 
didn't he say something about it before, 
instead of letting the thing run on and on in 
this scandalous way ? " 

" Very likely he did say something aboot 
it," replied Miss McVitty, " But if ye always 
throw your letters into the fire without 
opening them " 

She did not finish the sentence. Miss 
McVitty rarely troubled to finish a sentence. 
There was no need for her to do so. What 
Miss McVitty left unsaid was generally more 
eloquent than the oratory of a Demosthenes. 

" I'll make out a cheque for ye to sign," 
she announced. " Whaur's your cheque* 

" Cheque-book ? " Mostyn looked help- 
lessly round the room. Heaven only knew 
where he had left the blessed thing 1 " I 
don't know," he admitted, weakly. 

" It doesn't matter, onyway," remarked 
Miss McVitty, as she handed him yet another 




typewritten communique "Look at yon 
from the bank." 

*■ Yon from the bank " was to inform 
Mostyn that as they had now made payments 
on his account causing an overdraft of one 
hundred and eleven pounds fourteen and 
threepence they would reluctantly be com- 
pelled to return 
any future cheques 
which he might 
draw until they 
received the favour 
of a remittance. 

"You know, 
these banks are a 
bit tog thick I " 
protested the 
aggrieved Mostyn, 
when he had mas- 
tered the contents 
of this cheery little 
screed, " I think 
it's an absolute 
swindle the way 
they let you go 
overdrawing and 
overdrawing and 
never giving you 
the slightest 
hint ! * 

" Do you mean 
to say," inquired 
Miss McVitty, in 
a tone .which indi- 
cated clearly a 
grave doubt as to 
the young man's 
sanity, u that ye dinna go through your 
pass-book once a fortnight ? " 

il Go through my pass-book ? " 

Such an idea had never entered Mostyn's 

Miss McVitty looked and sniffed. Mostyn 
felt like a convicted criminal waiting for the 
judge to pass sentence. 

" There's three judgment summonses out 
against ye as well," announced Miss McVitty, 
almost triumphantly, as she extracted the 
contents fif three more envelopes. 

" Judgment summonses ! " exclaimed 
Mostyn, incredulously, as he stared at the 
disa^reable documents, ** Against me ? What 
on earth for ? " 

tl One's for forty-three pounds eighteen 
shillings and sixpence, for motor-hire," said 
Miss McVitty, checking the items ; 1( another's 
for twenty-three pounds fifteen shillings, for 
flowers ; and the third's for eighty-nine 
pounds odd, from your tailor.' 1 

11 But that's all bunkum ! H protested 
Mostyn, indignantly, " Why, I had all those 
things ages ago 1 " 

He paced the room in a fever of indignation 
at the base ingratitude of these huckstering 

" The pigs ! " he broke out, wrathfully. 
" To summon me — after all the money IVe 
spent in their loathsome places ! " 


by Google 


*' As far as I can make out/ 1 said Miss 
McVitty, who had been busy with a little 
sum in compound addition, " ye owe a bit 
over two hundred and fifty pounds. That's 
including the overdraft at the bank, of course/' 

Mostyn looked gloomily out of the window. 
How pleasant life had been, he reflected, 
before this interfering woman had come to 
cast a blight over his existence I Yesterday 
he had been as happy as a bird— without a 
care in the world ; and to-day, here he was— 
ruined — up to his neck in debt- — yes, and over- 
drawn at the hank, too ! All her fault. He 
must get rid of her before any more appalling 
disasters came his way. 

M What you'll have to do/* said Miss 
McVitty, breaking in upon his gloomy medita- 
tions, " is to ask Albert Tubb for another 
hundred down. I said two hundred and fifty 
pounds on the 'phone this morning ; but ye 
can say I made a mistake." 

Mostyn spun round quickly on his heel. 

Original from 



"Albert Tubb?" he echoed r quite be- 
wildered. " Another hundred pounds down ? 
You made a mistake on the telephone this 
morning ? What are you talking about, Miss 

" He rang up this morning/' replied Miss 
McVitty, in her maddeningly unemotional 
tones, " asking if ye'd had his letter inviting 
ye to write the next revue for the Imperial. 
I said aye, ye had " 

" But I haven't," interrupted Mostyn. 

" I think this will be it," said Miss McVitty, 
picking out from the pile of still unopened 
correspondence which lay before her a dusty 
envelope with the words " Imperial Theatre, 
Managing Director, Albert Tubb," printed in 
large type on the flap. " Onyway, I said ye'd 
had the letter, but that ye were afraid your 
terms wouldn't suit him. He speired what 
they were, and I said two hundred and fifty 
pounds down and three and a half per cent. 
on the gross. He tried hard to get ye down 
to three per cent., but ye wouldna budge a 

" Wouldn't I ? " said Mostyn, like a man 
in a dream. 

" He said he'd bring ye the contract at 
lunch to-day," continued Miss McVitty ; " but 
see ye don't sign till ye get the cheque for 
three hundred and fifty pounds." 

" But what on earth makes him want me 
to write his revue ? " asked Mostyn. " I've 
never done anything for the stage in my life." 

11 It seems," sniffed Miss McVitty, who had 
been perusing the neglected epistle from the 
Imperial Theatre, " that he likes that stuff 
ye write in The Universe, and thinks ' ye 
ought to be able to do a very good revue." 

From the tones in which she spoke it was 
obvious that Miss McVitty scarcely shared 
the optimism of Mr. Albert Tubb. Still, her 
firm conviction that only Sir J. Garratt was 
capable of dramatic work' with any preten- 
sions to value did not prevent her from doing 
what she conceived to be her duty by her 
present employer. 

" The only trouble," she went on, " is that 
he wants the book delivered in a fortnight. 
Still, that can be managed. It oughtn't 
to mean working more than eight hours a 

Mostyn stared at her, aghast. What did 
she mean — with her ridiculous eight hours 
a day ? Never in all his life had he worked 
for more than half an hour at a stretch. Was 
the woman mad ? Had she no conception 
of the limits of human capacity ? 

" I've known Sir James Garratt work for 
fourteen hours right on end," remarked 

Digitized by v^r 1 

Miss McVitty. " Seven or eight hours he 
thought naething aboot." 

Mostyn's knees began to give. Not con- 
tent with the misery she had already brought 
upon him, did this fearsome female mean to 
chain him like a slave to the oar for Heaven 
knows how many laborious hours per diem? 
No, no, no I He must make a determined 
break for freedom. Unless he got rid of her, 
now and for ever, why, good-bye to all that 
made life worth living. 

To this day Mostyn swears that he was 
going to say it — that the words, u I'm afraid, 
Miss McVitty, that we should not suit one 
another ; please accept a month's salary in 
lieu of notice and let us call our arrangement 
off," were on the tip of his tongue; but, 
needless to say, no one believes him. A few 
poor, simple-minded mutts who have never 
seen Miss McVitty might be taken in by 
Mostyn's ridiculous assertion, but we, who 
have seen her, know better. One does not 
discharge Miss McVitty. One runs away 
from her, yes — that's what Sir J. Garratt 
did, and his story about having to go on a 
long sea-voyage for the benefit of his health 
deceived no one ; but discharge her — no. 

However, Mostyn swears that he was going 
to do it, and only the sudden and painful 
recollection of the fact that he did not, at the 
moment, possess twelve pounds ten shillings 
prevented him. As if his worst enemy 
would not, in the circumstances, have lent 
him the money ! 

" Oh, but, Miss McVitty, I couldn't possibly 
expect you to work for me as long as that 
every day," was what he did say, accom- 
panied by a hypocritical affectation of concern 
for her welfare. " It wouldn't be fair." 

" Long hours are naething to me," was all 
Miss McVitty vouchsafed in reply to this 
futile effort, which, no doubt, she saw through, 
" I like worrrk." 

Of course. She would. 

" And even if I didn't/' the relentless 
creature continued-, " I would have no right 
to complain. It's what ye pay me for." 

Mostyn saw an opening and leapt for it, 
quicker than a panther. 

"Ah, but that's the difficulty, Miss 
McVitty," he hastened to say, contriving 
to throw into his voice a tinge of ineCable 
sadness — the sadness of a man who, through 
his own folly, has had to let one of the great 
prizes of life slip through his fingers. " I 
had no idea, believe me, when I engaged you, 
that my affairs were in the involved condi- 
tion in which they now appear to be. I 
should not \ye justified, Miss McVitty, in 




asking you to continue in my employ, when 
it is so very doubtful whether I should be 
.able to pay your salary with anything like 

Whilst delivering himself of this magnani- 
mous speech Mostyn had carefully placed 
himself in a position in which Miss McVitt/s 
look could not, at all events, score a direct 
hit. He felt it scorching the back of his 
neck, and thanked his stars that he had not 
met it full. It would have blinded him. Its 
fell force was supplemented by one of her 

" Ye can pay my salary fine/' declared 
Miss McVitty. " Dinna forget that ye'll be 
getting three-fifty from yon Tubb body at 
lunch to-day. Dinna sign the contract till 
ye get the cheque." 

" But I'm not lunching with Albert Tubb 
to-day," objected Mostyn. 

" Yes, ye are," contradicted Miss McVitty. 
" I made the appointment for ye. At the 
Carlton — one-thirty." 

" It can't be done." Mostyn was terrified 
at his own audacity, but he held bravely on. 
" I'm lunching with Miss Honeywell at the 
Ritz at one-fifteen." 

" Ye're no doing onything of the kind." 
Miss McVitty was quite clear on that point. 
" Miss Honeywell rang up a while ago to ask 
where it was you had arranged to lunch 
together because she had forgotten, and I 
told her you could not lunch with her at all 
as ye had a business appointment." 

" You put her off ! " cried Mostyn, horrified. 
Putting off Iris was a process which he had 
reason to know was not unattended with 
risk. Iris was a dear sweet soul, but she 
was apt to get a bit ruffled by any alteration 
in her arrangements for the day. 

" Of course I put her off," retorted Miss 
McVitty. " Ye must attend to business." 

Mostyn was on the point of telling Miss 
McVitty pretty sharply that he would be 
much obliged if she would kindly mind her 
own, but, just as he was opening his mouth, 
he happened to meet her eye — and decided 
suddenly to let the matter pass for the 
moment. There was something in the 
quality of Miss McVitty's most casual glance 
that checked one's rasher impulses. 

11 When he had to work against time," 
observed Miss McVitty, who evidently con- 
sidered that there was nothing more to be 
said on the luncheon question, " Sir James 
Garratt generally started at about four in 
the afternoon and went on till about eleven 
or twelve at night." 

" Did he ? Did he really ? Confound Sir 

by dC 


James Garratt. If this infernal female 
imagined everybody was going to mould his 
ways on those of Sir J. Garratt she was very 
much mistaken. Oh, yes, she was. We'll 
soon see. We'll show her." 

That was what Mostyn said — to himself. 

" So I'll be going now," said Miss McVitty, 
rising from the table, " and be back at four." 

" Sharrp," she added over her shoulder 
as she went out of the door. 

Mostyn tried to call her back and tell her 
that at four sharrp he would be miles away, 
teaching Fred Simmonds how to play golf 
— but the words refused to come. 

When she had gone he threw himself 
into a chair and uttered a hollow groan. 
Why, oh why, had Iris brought this monster 
into his life ? Which reminded him — Iris. 
He must lose no time in ringing her up and 
telling her that that fool of a woman had 
made a mistake, and, of course, he would be 
lunching with her at one-fifteen as arranged. 
As for Albert Tubb, he could go and boil 
himself. He wasn't going to write revues 
for Albert Tubb or anybody else. He hated 
revues. Some of his brightest and most 
biting remarks in those weekly columns 
in The Universe were made at the expense 
of revues and revue-writers. Sir James 
b Garratt might prostitute his pen to the 
" writing of revues if he liked; but Mostyn 
Nix wouldn't. No — not if he had to starve 

Seething with rage — the rage of the wild 
animal that finds itself for the first time 
in a cage — the flimsy bars of which it pro- 
poses to smash down with a couple of deter- 
mined blows — Mostyn went over to the tele- 
phone. He hesitated for a moment before 
taking up the receiver. 

" That you ? " he said, when at last he 
got the number for which he had asked. He 
found himself speaking in a thin, far-away 
voice which he could scarcely recognize for 
his own. " I'm awfully sorry, Fred, old man, 
but I can't manage that golf this afternoon. 

I've got a very important " He paused. 

" Business appointment," he was going to 
say; but a last pitiful attempt to retain 
some shred of self-respect made him substi- 
tute " cold in the head." 

" Why didn't I pay the woman her month's 
salary out of that cheque I got from Albert 
Tubb and get rid of her there and then ? " 

Sympathizers to whom in after years 
Mostyn was pouring out the pitiful story 
of his life always seemed to ask the question, 
and it maddened him beyond measure. 




** My dear fool, how could I ? You can't 
sack a wtiman at a moment's notice when 
she has just got a job for you which every- 
body says is going to make your fortune. 
It isn J t done. It would have been ingrati- 
tude of the basest description, Ohj yes, 
1 know Albert Tubb had written to me long 
before she ever came near the place, but that 
isn't the point. I should have known nothing 
about it if that confounded busybody hadn't 
insisted on opening my letters that morning. 
That's where I was caught in a cleft stick. 
Apparently I was under a deep debt of 
obligation to her. Everybody seemed tu 
think so. She did, anyhow; and never 
lost an opportunity of making allusions 
to the fact, Actually, of course, she ruined 
my life. Before that devil got hold of me 
my soul was my own, I enjoyed every 
minute of my existence, I did what 
I liked , went where I chose — had 
some of the most amusing friends in 
the world. Now I'm dependent for 
society on a parcel of dreary bores 
(I don't mean people like you, old 
boy, of course)— and every hour of 
my day is parcelled out for me by 
a wicked old witch who practically 
keeps me cooped up in a bottle 
like that poor unhappy djinn fellow 
in ' The Arabian Nights/ And 
there's worse." Mostyn's voice 
always began to shake when he came 
to this point, and he would have 
to gulp down his emotion before 
he could go on- u In those days I 
loved a girl— the sweetest girl in the 
world— and she loved me. Oh, if 
you could have seen my Iris ! Why 
didn't I marry her ? My boy, don't 
be absurd. Miss McVitty resembles 
Heaven in one respect, strange as it 
may seem ; there is no marrying or 
giving in marriage there, How could 
you expect a splendid girl like Iris 
to go on loving a brute of a man 
who neglected her — who put off 
every appointment he made with her — 
who couldn't even find time to scribble a 
letter to her now and then ? Yes, yes, 
it's no good talking like that- You've 
never seen Miss McVitty. You don't know 
her look. You haven't heard her sniff. The 
knowledge that that Gorgon was sitting in 
my chambers, bold upright, pencil and note- 
book in hand, waiting for me to get on with 

my work, drew me home like some horrible 

bi Personally I believe she has got some magic 
lamp, of which, without knowing it, 1 am 
the slave ; and that she gives it a rub when 
she thinks I'm enjoying myself or doing 
anything wasteful like that. Two months 
after Miss McVitty planted herself on me 
Iris married a fellow in the Indian Civil, 
I've never seen her since," 

Then Mostyn would relapse into gloomy 

n^^l M* 



silence and stare into the fire* Suddenly 
he would give a slight shiver, glance guiltily 
at the clock, and hurriedly rise to go. 

But he always had a last word of advice 
to give to his listener before he went, delivering 
it in tones of impressive warning : — 

" My boy — never be without twelve pounds 
ten — tucked away somewhere safe. It's 

by Google 

Original from 

The Ideal Sal 


What may be called the Psychology of Trade is a subject at all times of great 
importance, but one which after the war will become still more so. The 
following very original and striking article will be found not only of practical 
value to all who are connected with the buying and selling of goods, but, to the 
general reader, a most interesting study of human nature. It is the bulk of a 
lecture delivered by Mr. Frank Willis Moore to a large audience in Kingsway 
Hall, London, and is given here by courtesy of the. International Correspondence 

Schools, Ltd. 


fHV p*«t 

The Lack of Efficiency. 

IN the wholesale trade, in the retail trade, in 
speciality selling, or in any other class of 
selling, a competent staff is very hard to 
obtain. One of the main causes of this 
shortage might be found in the lack of courage 
noticeable in 
the average 
selling man 
when he is first 
brought face 
to face with 
the strenuous 
life outdoors. 
This, perhaps, 
does not apply 
so exactly to 
selling behind 
the counter, 
but both 
classes of sales- 
men fail short 
in another es« 
sential direc- 
tion — they do 
not apprpach 
their work 
from a really 


JrppnW Ufctc fryftr Oath* Eye 
*•*•* ^"w* «*** 



to Job** Cotfourt 




The Ability to 
Create a 
' Demand. 

1 define effi- 
ciency in sell- 
ing as the 
ability to 

create a demand — not merely to cater to existing 
customers, but to open up new opportunities 
for business. The business-getting salesman is 
really a most important person, but he does not 
always realize, it. Salesmanship is admitted to 


be an art, but comparatively few untrained 
salesmen are artists. 

Business Sense. 

All a man has to do to study salesmanship is, 
at first, to put away ideas of business science and 

• to get right 
down to busi- 
ness sense. 
The first ap- 
plied to busi- 
ness is abso- 
lutely sound, 
but only when 
the human 
ground - work 
is p/epared 
with business 
sense as a 
This can be 
acquired, al- 
though there 
are many who 
pin their faith 
to the born 
salesman, a 
different type 
altogether, and 
one who is 
usually too 
superficial and 
erratic to be- 
come a really 
steady pro- 
ducer or a 
good execu- 
tive. The born 
salesman is usually more of a showman than a sales* 
man. Now the plodder is different. It is the plod- 
der who represents the better asset to a business. 
He is a solid man who will go out each week and 
will do a week's work : he needs less supervision, 






The salesman should practise selling with himself 

as customer, 

: 1 

i ! 



The selling world has its tragedies. If the habit 
depicted here is indulged in, not only will his tG'day 
be severely handicapped but his to-morrow com- 
mence under a cloud. 

he will come home with something in his pouch. 
He does not break records, but is the kind of 
fellow who is a better stoat? in the foundation 
of a business than the born salesman. There 
is nothing frothy or effervescent about him ; he 
is substantial and reliable. Now, I draw this 
comparison because the average sales-manager, 
in discussing the problem of salesmen, will 
bring up that old, hackneyed phrase : " The 
salesman is born, not made, and you cannot make 
him for me." I do not want to make lum, but 
I want to make a good practical imitation, and 
I believe it is possible to do that. 

Have you ever considered that almost every 




It is always good policy to dress well shave we it 

Look at a man with a bright, healthy eye, instead 

of carrying with you an atmosphere of dissipation. 

In this picture we see an example of a salesman who, 
after knocking at the purchaser's door is seized with 
misgivings as to what he is going to say and how he is 
goin^ to say it, The title of this picture is often the 
epitaph on the commercial tomb of many a salesman. 

by L^OOgle 


Manners and mannerisms are very catching, and the 

enthusiasm displayed in face, gesture, and expression 

rapidly impart? itself to those with whom you come 

in contact. 

Original from 




This representative's nerve is entirely shaken at the 

unfortunate occurrence depicted, His wits go wool- 



A good listener is much appreciated; but don't 

overdo it. 

BUT— (See next page.) 


; j 


All impedimenta gracefully disposed of. with his right 

hand ready. The expression of this customer indicates 

that a good impression has been created 

class of society is affected by the selling qualities 
and a very great number of grades live by the 
exhibition of these same qualities, from thr* 
street pedlar to the statesmen and diplomats of 
Europe ? 

The Question of Teach ins Salesmen. 

Why should an employer expect to find his 
salesmen ready- mad e, any more than he would 
expect to employ a clerical staff who are aware 
by instinct of all the 
little intricacies of lus 
particular business ? 
Em ploy is of all grades 
have to be taught. 
Knowledge is not 
rrtN^JM, like a disease. 
In the manufacturing 
and recording ends of 
a business this is 
generally admitted. 
Why, then, should the 
(r education " of the 
man who creates a 
demand for these two 
departments be mi- 
le ted ? A man may 
have twenty -five 
wars' experience be- 
hind him, and at the 
end of that time knaw 
less than a man who 
has put in five years* 
(■in ten t r a t ed t ho u p h t 
■ vi the main issue. 
The first has been 
content to turn a 
handle and exist while 


Travel with him on those 
various side -tracks just so 
far a* expediency pcrmus 
bui systematically drag him 

back to rhe real issue, 

by Google 

Original from 




You arc not an entertainer, you are a business man, 


The buyer wants proof. Some salesmen talk * lot 

and *jjj nothing, 

the latter has cultivated habits of thought and 
of analysis and can arrive at conclusions. 

Analysis of Customer, Self, and Goods. 

What is analysis > I translate it as meaning — 
take what is obvious and then subdivide iL 
There are certain points about a person or a 
thing which will literally hit you in the face 
when you sit down to study either, and it is 

Go slow. The next time you call he will be out. 

from these things that are so obvious that one 
draws, after delving beneath the surface, much 
ttat had hitherto been hidden. To a salesman 
analysis is vital, and he should begin with the 
thing which is closest to him — himself. We 
most of us brag that we know ourselves inti- 
mately; but there are few of us who would not 
rather trust the estimate of an intimate friend 


Self-examination reveals many surprises, and 
is a first-rate training for the mind which would 
analyze others. The same principle applies 
strictly to the goods which, under the mental 
microscope, will display ail kinds of convincing 
selling points to the searcher after facts. Last, 
but not least — the customer, whose mental 
make-up (and, more important still, motives] 


Useless and irritating. Bluff— and bluff does not pay 

in these days. 

about another man in preference 

to hi* 

should be accurately judged by the would-be 
successful salesman. Learn to read the cus- 
tomer's face whilst you are listening politely to 
Ins words. The first will tell you most. 

I would be prepared to prove that the sales- 
man's career offers more fascinating opportuni- 
ties for the study of human nature, and a clearer 
understanding .of. his fellow-creatures* than ^ny 
other walK i!o?rifflf"jD*l>ti3!dHi he remains observing 





A short cut to antagonism. A man's office table 

and papers are sacred to him. 

and receptive. The habit nf thought after 
analysis will strengthen and broaden the man, 
whilst the most highly developed analytical 
mind need not be cynical* 

The Eitentialt of Saleimanthip. 

To make some of these points clearer, the 
chart under this title will illustrate the methods 
of analysis recommended. The division and 
subdivision of these essentials are largely self- 
explanatory, but there are two to which special 
attention might be drawn. A cultivated memory 
is of the utmost importance. Most people 
charge their mind with much that is quite 
unnecessary. Tabulate the things that matter > 
and forget the rest. 

Then, keen observation of the eye and ear. 
The seeing eye and the ear which will catch the 
meaning of even an intonation in a voice. 

In the first of the photographs is to be found 
a man selling to himself. This is a pictorial 
way of impressing upon the salesman the vital 
need for him to satisfy himself first that the 
goods he represents should be purchased by the 
customer. Let him but convince himself and 
the task of convincing others will be infinitely 
lighter. His analysis of the selling points of his 
articles, his examination of their usefulness to 
the public, will equip him for the work, and put 


the weight of clean-cut conviction on his own 
part behind the necessary knowledge of his 

You will here find a group of pictures which 
bear titles that clearly convey their own message. 
They show you the salesman in fit and unfit 


Directly you a&k for something you imply that the 

request made may not be granted. 


There is much suggestion and an air of certainty about 

the man who has the nerve and the grace to put the 

pen Ima :ht buyer's hand. 





The customer is made to feel that he or she is simply 

nothing more than an impertinent interruption* 

condition — nervous and confident— ~clumsy and 
iinishcJ— tactful and otherwise — the m;m who 
wastes his time with the jovial customer, or 

i ▼ ^j 



'Tlli ^ 



And he evens things up by staying away in fuiure- 

Invitation in every 1in< 


The salesman expresses in fate and* pose a cordial 

welcome to his establishment. 

drowns that customer with words. The dogmatic 
man with the combative manner. The showman 
type of salesman. That objectionable person 
who indulges in vulgar familiarity. The fellow 
who begs for the order and the man who gets it. 
There is a little illustration whirh. in a simple 

The salesman lounging negligently shows by hts whole 
amcude the boredom which is closely akin to insult. 

... .■ 


' 'I . 




i£ v '" 


W -+ jK^MM|m|3h|^^^c^ 

■ r* 



By turning his baclt to seek for something he breads 
the spejl and the customer idly searches about for 

a distL-aclian to occupy his mind. 






V.J Q, 


^ 3 


Keep your Face toward the customer and get him to 

assist in the selection of the article required. 

way, fallows the wanderings of the talkative 
prospective purchaser who endeavours to evade 
the issue by leading the salesman off on other 
tracks, and finally a little illustrated suggestion 
wm-!i demands some few words of explanation. 

*-— +>'+> * 




^Jhflfli t t "f " 



BBHl Hfi ;' 


MljI ! 


(The wrong moment*) Do not wait until the customer 

is carrying away a packed and finished parcel. 

The Handy Rf minder. 

How often is a selling man's talk disjointed, 
and, as a consequence, unconvincing ? How 
often does it take a clearly-conceived and lucidly- 
followed line of consecutive thought ? The 
fingers of one's hand with the keyword of 
" Queen " pry vide in rough outline the essence of 
every selling talk, 

The quality, utility, and economic features 
of the article must appeal,- Kvidenee or proof 
(testimonials, etc) of its value are convincing, 
while its necessity to the person approached 
must be real, or the salesman wastes his time. 
Five words to remember, and he need never 
lose the thread of his discourse. 

Retail Selling. 
While the principles of salesmanship are the 
same in this connection and govern results, the 
over-the-counter selling man has rather different 
and less drastic problems to face. The essential 
difference is that in his case the cu stouter comes 
to him, whilst an outdoor creative salesman's 

customer has to be found- The same analysis 
of self, analysis of goods, and quick summing 
up of customers is therefore just as necessary to 
the successful retailer as with the outdoor man. 
A trifle will make the difference between securing 
a good customer or losing one. Some of the 
little weak spots in the retailer's methods will 
be recognizable in the pictures that follow, 
while other pictures suggest a better way of 
handling the same situation. Every wide- 
awake shopkeeper realizes that it is the per- 
manent and satisfied customer who will be at 
all times his best advertisement, so he lays 
himself out to cement a happy relationship 
between himself and each customer. You see it 
is his shop and his future at stake, but the 
ambitious assistant should remember that ene 
of these days he may have a shop, and practise 
to acquire the skill of the expert against that 
day when it comes. 

It may safely be said that behind the counter 
will be found less enthusiasm and more imper- 
fections from the selling point of view than will 
be met with on the whole among outside 
commercial men. Doubtless much of titms is 


{The right moment.) Offer the goods you are anxious 

to push while the parcel is packing — or before that. 

traceable to the greater monotony of the shop 
assistant's life; but he should bear in mind the 
undeniable fact that there is no cure for monotony 
so effective as enthusiastic interest and en- 
deavours at self -improvement. 

is an excellent policy for those who hope to succeed 
in idling, and it is equally fair to assume "that it 
is a princ pie wSi£>i can b*i applied to the consideration 



("According to Orders ! ) 


{Author of " Jn Action? " Battlewrack? etc.) 

Illustrated by Ernest Prater. 

HE three battalions of the — th 
Regiment, 300th Ersatz Division, 
had acquired a sentiment almost 
of domicile in the little French 
town set among the yet leafless 
orchards in a hollow of the rolling 
Rcardy country. They had been 
long upon this sector, had come up for the fierce 
struggles in the .Pierre St. Vaast Wood at the 
end of the Battle of the Somme in September, 
19161, and during their spells in the front line 
in the dreary winter which followed, while the 
French shells wailed over their heads to fling 
up founts of mud in the quagmire behind the 
trenches, they looked back to their rest area 
with something akin to nostalgia. When, at last 
relieved for a few weeks, they tramped, haggard, 
bearded, and mud-caked, into the narrow cobbled 
streets which led into the tree-surrounded Grand' 
Placei with its Joan of Arc statue in the centre, 
it was almost as if they had returned to their 
native townships remote beyond the Rhine. 
Inscriptions upon the shops, indicative of 
tjbe adaptability of human nature and the 
business instincts of the commercants — or, rather, 
of the brave wives of the commergants distant 
in the French trenches — helped the illusion. 
Strips of paper pasted across the windows bore 
the outlandish words, " Delikatessen,'^ " Condi- 
torei," " Ranch und Speise Mittel," traced for a 
dimly comprehending landlady by an oblig- 
ing German soldier to the allurement of his 

These good ladies stood at the doors of their 
shops while the ranks went swinging by in the 
dusk, and said to one another with a quiet 
certitude : " Oui, c'est la trois-centibme encore." 
From the river of faces that flowed through the 
twilight came hoarse, guttural cries of recognition 
from German soldiers childishly anxious to be 
remembered. They met with no response. The 
women at the doors stood calmly interested as 
company after company tramped rhythmically 
past, dreaming perhaps of a day when a battalion 
of another race should march down that street 
in a tumult of enthusiasm that brought a lump 
to the throat and a mist to the eyes merely to 
imagine it. 

In the evening, when the battalions had 
broken ranks and had surged out of their billets 
in throngs of soldiermen arm-in-arm in twos and 
threes, a woman under the hanging oil-lamp in 
the tiny shop would look up at a remembered 

Copyright, 1918, by 

face with a little smile and say, half in quiet 
malice, half in natural human friendliness : — 

" A h t vous n'ttes pas tui t alors P " 

And t£e German, grinning, would reply in his • 
clumsy pronunciation : — 

" Non, matame — bos doui — encore." 

Then the woman would break into a little 
merry laugh — " Ah t il ne sera jamais doui — c't 
homme-la / " as she pushed the desired article 
across the counter. And the German, grinning 
uncomprehendingly, would tramp heavily out of 
the shop. 

Relations between the conquerors and the — 
temporarily— conquered, if not cordial, were at 
least friendly. The French women had homes 
to be kept together and young mouths to be fed. 
The German soldiers naturally relaxed from the 
strain of those long, drear weeks when they lived 
under the alternative of kill or be killed. Besides, 
human beings not actually engaged in hostilities 
cannot live in close propinquity without the 
emergence of amicable sentiments. The German 
soldiers looked at t fte little children and remem- 
bered that they, too, many of them, were fathers. 1 
The mothers remarked the caress and beamed 
with that maternal emotion which forgets 
nationality. For a final reason, the German 
military police system was strict. It conferred- 
a sense of security on the one party, while it 
enforced a stern discipline on the other. 

On a bright March morning, with the sun 
shining so cheerfully from a pale blue sky that 
there was a chatter of bird-notes among the 
bare trees of the orchard, the Gcfreite, Hans 
Kellner, took a walk round the billet familiar 
to him from previous occupancy. The battalion 
had been dismissed early from parade on this 
first morning after their arrival in the rest area 
in order that the men might clean their kit and 
otherwise recuperate from the fatigues of a spell 
of particularly bad weather in the trenches. 
The Gefreite, whose step in rank above the simple 
private absolved him from the duty of cleaning 
up the barn in which his squad had slept, 
wandered around the house, his long porcelain- 
bowled pipe hanging from his teeth, and looked 
critically for any change that might have 
occurred since his last visit. There was none. 

The inhabitants were unchanged also. M. 
Delavigne, the farmer, a man of about forty 
years, whose class had not yet been called to 
the colours when the invaders swept over the 
land and shut him ofi from the French authorities, 

F. Britten A 1st In. H IG A N 

fti 4 


passed through the 
yard on his way to the 
house, The German 
touched his cap and 
diffidently murmured 
"Bon jour, monsieur/ 1 
without, however, 
removing his pipe 
from his teeth, The 
Frenchman answered 
by the curt nod which 
had been his invari- 
able response when 
Hans Kellner had, in 
his last visit, proffered 
friendliness. He heard 
Marie, the servant- 
maid, giggling as of 
old with the soldiers 
cleaning the barn, as, 
rather sheepishly, he 
followed the farmer 
to his door, Uncom- 
fortably sensible of 
his idleness in this 
busy household, he 
shamefacedly craved 
companionship. O n 
the threshold of the 
big kitchen, with its 
wooden furniture, its 
black gulf of a chim- 
ney, he hesitated, 
gazed in without en- 
tering. Two women 
were at work there : 
the farmer's - wife, 

fresh and buxom, some ten years younger than 
her husband t and her mother, old and bent with 
many years of toil in the fields. The old 
woman turned away her head with a scowl. The 
farmer's wife came boldly towards the German, 

" Ah t $ros paresseux I ** she said, vivaciously. 
44 And there is a heap of wood to be chopped in 
the comer of the yard t " 

The German stared at her for a moment while 
his dull intelligence lumbered after the swift run 
of her words. Then, seizing their import, he 
smiled, touched his cap, and turned with docility 
to do her bidding. 

He procured the axe with a precise and long- 
founded knowledge of its whereabouts. Then, 
putting away his pipe, he set to work vigorously 
upon the heap of rough timber. The chopped 
wood he piled in a shed with scrupulous neat- 
ness. Marie-Louise, the farmer's three- year-old 
daughter, toddled out to him and watched him 
while he worked. 

" Bon jour, Marie-Louisa J " said Hans, more 
at home with the child than with any other 
member of the family. 

u *Jour t m'$t£u t " responded Marie-Louise, 
gravely, her none-too -clean face in process of 
further defilement from the morsel of chocolate, 
acquired from one of the other soldiers, which 
leaked from the corner of her mouth. 

His task finished, Hans Kellner put away the 


u&, and once more lit the pipe which was his 
dearest possession. 

Marie-Louise brightened at once. 

,f Regarde — pipe/" she said, decisively 

The German held down the porcelain bowl, 
painted with a highly-coloured lady in jwflow 
hair and red peasant- jacket, for her inspection. 
Then, replacing the mouthpiece between his 
teeth, he suddenly hoisted the child to his 
shoulder and marched off with her to the gate- 
way opening to the street. 

There he stood sunning himself, the little one 
held high, prattling and laughing, beating upon 
his cap with one fist while the other arm tightly 
encircled his head. 

Suddenly the German soldier perceived a motor- 
car, followed by a second, rushing towards the 
town. He had a glimpse of a Statf flag fluttering 
above the radiator* In an instant the child was 
thrown down, the German soldier stood rigid, 
saluted with exact precision as the first car 
dashed past- The child flung down upon the 
ground burst into a shriek of bewilderment and 
pain. The German *soldier stood like a satute. 
saluted again as the secorfd car shot by. The 
first had contained the Divisional General ; the 
second held members of his Staff. To Hans 
Kellner it was as though the tfods from Olympus 
had whirled along the road, suspending the 
functions of humanity* 




When he relaxed from his stiff posture, after 
a decent interval to assure himself that no third 
car followed, the child had fled from him, was 
disappearing with last audible sobs into the 

Hans Kellner gazed stupidly after it, then 
philosophically replaced his pipe-stem between 
his teeth. , 

The child's grandmother shoolf her fist at him 
from the doorway. 

r The Divisional General, followed by several of 
his Staff officers, climbed the wooden staircase 
of the little Mairie, and strode into the office 
of the regiment commander. That officer jumped 
from his seat into erect rigidity with a click of 
heels and spurs. 

" Gpod morning, Herr Oberst," said the 
Divisional General. 

•* Good morning, Excellenz," replied the 
colonel, wondering uneasily if all the regimental 
returns had been correct while he stood respect- 
fully immobile. 

"Be seated, colonel," said the General, 
dropping himself heavily into the chair which a 
subaltern member of the regimental staff 
hastened to place for him. /" I have important 
orders for you." 

" Zu Befehl, Excellent ! " said the regiment 
commander, zealously, ere he unbent from his 
parade attitude and resumed his seat. 

The Divisional General tapped his hand upon 
the table, 

" We are evacuating the area, colonel. The 
retirement will be carried out immediately." 

The Oberst' s -eyebrows shot up at this startling 
intelligence. He looked at his superior as though 
scarcely crediting his ears. 

The General waved away his doubts with an 
airy motion of his hand 

" A matter of strategy, lieber Oberst — glanzende 
Kriegslist ! — Hindenburg's master-stroke ! We 
escape from the enemy at the moment he intends 
to deliver his decisive blow, and leave him a 
vacuum — a desert ! However, lieber Oberst, it is 
not for us to discuss the decisions which have 
been ratified by the All-Highest War-Lord — it 
is for us to execute, them." 

He blew pompously down his nose into his 
thrust-out bristling white moustache, and glared 
at the colonel as he finished this sentence. 

" Jawokl, Excellent — naturlich," said the 
colonel, all subservience. 

" Gut," said the General. " The situation has 
already been long foreseen. You have your orders. 
Open your Grosses-Haupt-Quartier secret order 
No. 355. and you will find your instructions in 
detail. You have only to execute them. The 
greatest possible speed is essential. The regiment 
must be on the march by dawn to-morrow. Follow 
your orders strictly. No sentimental considera- 
tions may be allowed to interfere with their 
exact performance. Get the civilian population 
under guard at once. You will find it all in your 
orders. Men under sixty. Women from fifteen 
to forty-five. Children at the breast go with 
the women. * The train for the men will be at 
the railway station at four this afternoon. The 

women's trains will leave at five and six o'clock/ 
See that the orders about fruit-trees are thoroughly 
. carried out — also the cattle. A pioneer company 
will report to you in half an hour to assist in the 
demolition of the town." He rose to his feet. 
" Those are your orders. I rely on you, cokmeL" 

The regiment commander also rose to his feet, 
stood rigid as before. 

" Zu Befehl, Excellent I " 

With a mutual clicking of heels, the Divisional 
General and his satellites departed. 

In a& short a time as they could answer the 
telephonic summons, the three battalion com- 
manders stood before the colonel. He handed 
each of them written orders, emphasized par- 
ticular points, quieted their astonishment, " Das 
Meister stuck Hindenburgs " : that was the key- 
word to confidence, thoroughly impressed upon 

" Destruction, rneine Herren," concluded the 
colonel, " no looting ! That is what your men 
must be made to understand. We have no time 
to pack up souvenirs. Complete destruction. 
You will find your times for marching off in your 
orders. You must be strictly punctual. And 
when you leave you must leave only a desert 
behind you. You quite understand ? Then get 
to work quickly ! " 

" Zu Befehl, Herr Oberst!" said the three 
battalion commanders in chorus, saluting like 
one man with a simultaneous click of spurs. The 
colonel swept his glance over the row of middle- 
aged faces, flushed with good living, in front of 
him ; the faces of three not-unkind fathers of 
families, despite the military uniform. Their 
eyes were steady, their mouths calm. He 
dismissed his subordinates with an imperious 

The bugles sounded in the streets. There was 
a rush of heavy feet as the men fell in their 

A quarter of an hour later two battalions 
stood ranked in long lines through the streets. 
The third battalion was massed in column of 
companies in the Grand' Place. The major 
commanding that battalion stood in conference 
with his company commanders close under the 
statue of Joan of Arc. A group of pioneers was 
busy excavating a hole under the b&se of the 
monument. The battalion commander concluded 
his orders. 

" As far as possible the men will carry out the 
work of destruction in the vicinity of their own 
billets. They are most familiar with those areas. 
These orders will be executed with the utmost 
speed and thoroughness." 

" Zu Befehl, Herr Major I " chorused the four 
company commanders, saluting, ere they returned 
to their men. 

Almost immediately the battalion commenced 
to move off. As the last files left the square 
there was a loud explosion, a cloud of smoke and 
dust behind them. The statue of Joan of Arc 
toppled and crashed. A rush of women to the 
doorways of the shops bordering on the square 
followed the detonation. Shrill feminine cries 
of alarm resounded over the steady foot-beats 
of the marching troops. Anxious mothers 



|ff V 21^ V THE STRAND 

■ clutched their children to them and demanded 
of one another the significance of this portent. 
A jpioneer disfigured the calm features of the . 
prostrate statue with vehement strokes of his * 
picfcp A strong patrol of mounted military police 
jf'-^V/* rode into the square, descended from their 
Qy . horses, 

> / ]. In the kitchen of the farmstead on the out- 
'//■' skirts of the town, M. Delavigne finished his 
* * * eleven o'clock repast without troubling himself 
' a&out this sudden assemblage of the troops. 
He, his wife, his mother-in-law, fondly attending 
v to the wants of" Marie-Louise, and Marie, the 
- servant, sat in common at the bare wood table, 
cut in common from the long loaf of bread, and 
helped themselves as their appetite prompted 
from the big enamel tureen of soup which was 
between them. Suddenly the farmer looked up. 
His ear, long habituated to the usual muttering 
thunders of the battle-line seven or eight miles 
away, had caught a 'series of unfamiliar detona- 
tions. They were not particularly loud detona- 
tions — not so loud as the jarring roar, regularly 
repeated, which he knew to come from the big 
gun mounted on the railway truck — but they 
were sharper and decidedly louder than the 
pustomary dull reports of the warring artilleries. 
The sharp detonations continued. His wife also 
, remarked them, exchanged a puzzled look. 

"They are nearer I" exclaimed the young 
woman. The routine of war had been so long 
established for them that any deviation from 
the normal was full of significance. " Perhaps 
—perhaps it is true — after all ? " 

Her husband shook his head pessimistically. 

" No — we have heard it too many times." 

The old woman looked up from her soup, gave 
a glance of fondness at the child, and then 

" Ces sales boches ! But they are going — they 
are going ! I feel it in my bones 1 " 

The farmer did not reply. At a repetition of 
the uncustomary sounds, he pushed his plate 
from him and went out of the house. He crossed 
the courtyard and passed through the gateway 
into the street. 

Along the main road from the westward, 
whence proceeded the strange detonations, a 
battery of heavy guns, drawn by rumbling, 
rattling petrol tractors, was approaching him. 
Behind that, in the distance, was a column of 
motor-lorries, also coming towards the town. 
Beyond them was a cloud of dust, indicative of 
yet more traffic on th§ road. Of signs of hostilities 
there was none. The sunshine flooded a rolling 
landscape where most of the fields were brown. 
From an isolated farm between him and the 
^battle-front the chimney-smoke ascended peace- 

The heavy battery went noisily past him. He 
paid it no attention. For the last week similar 
batteries had been coming from the front every 
day in such numbers as to give rise to the rumour 
that the Germans were preparing a retreat. The 
farmer's bitter scepticism was the product of a 
long series of such rumours and their corollary 
of deception. The column of motor-lorries 
followed, loaded high with baulks of timber, 


huge reels pf barbed wire, and other engineers" 
stores. Behind them an interminably long 
column of field artillery, moving at the trot, 

The farmer could make 'nothing of the sharp 
detonations save that a battery had been newly 
placed in position nearer than usual to the town. 

Suddenly he heard a voice behind* him, crying 
his name in accents of alarm. It was Jules* the 
lad who should have been working with the 
horses in the fields. 

"Monsieur Delavigne! Monsieur Delavigne. 1 
They have shot the horses ! They have shot? the 
horses ! " 

The farmer turned on him sharply. 

" Shot the horses ? Qui- fa ? " 

" Les boches ! — the Germans ! " The lad 
hurriedly substituted the politer designation lie 
had unwarily forgotten in the -excitement of the 
moment. The vernacular was unsafe for ftafWiE 
use. He entered upon a long, incoherent •story 
of the incident, trotting by the side of the fanner, 
who strode hurriedly, in blazing wrath, towards 
the scene of the outrage. 

" We were working in the big field, m^aeu—^ 
just at the end of the furrow, m'sieu — and they 
came and shot them — five of them — they laughed, 

At that moment Marie came > running after 

" Monsieur Delavigne 1 Monsieur Delavigne ! " 
Her voice was a raucous scream. The fawner 
stopped ■ — immediately conscious of a new 
calamity. " They are cutting down the trees ! 
They are cutting down the trees in the orchard I '* 

M. Delavigne did not ask — who ? There was 
an accent on the " they " which was sufficiently 
indicative. The blood rushed to his face, 
fingers clawed tit the palms of his hands as 
fists worked in an overmastering rage. 'Hi3 
existence was crumbling about him. He turned 
and ran towards the orchard. It had been the 
pride of his father, of his grandfather ; it was 
now his. He ran as a man runs to fed* off 

He dashed round the house to where the long 
rows of whitewashed tree-trunks gleamed in tl|e 
spring sunshine. The orchard was filled with 
German soldiers furiously at work, resounded to 
the thuds of many axes. The Germans were not 
cutting the trees down. They had not ttae lor 
that. \ They were deeply gashing all round 4he 
trunks, so that the trees would inevitably die* 
To the farmer it was the equivalent Of cold- 
blooded murder. 

He rushed at the nearest man with a snarl, 
flung himself upon him in a struggle to wrest 
away the axe. For a moment the two men 
swayed, evenly matched, the farmer uttering 
unintelligible sounds, the German grinning. 
Then another German aimed a blow at him with 
the back of an axe, which, just missing his head, 
struck his shoulder and felled him to the ground. 
He half rose, felt his right arm useless, and cursed 
savagely at the two men who stood over him, 
smiling in their comfortable superiority. A 
German officer sauntered up, elegant and close- 
buttoned, monocle dangling. In crisp, decisive 





French he ordered the farmer out of the orchard ; 
in his own language he brutally ordered fads inet\ 
to get on with their work. The Frenchman 
looked at him with the eyes of a man who 
despairs for lack of a weapon that will kilL 

Jules and Marie ran up, assisted the farmer to 
his feet, supported him, dazed and unsteady, out 
of the orchard. His wife came running towards 
him, so preoccupied with her own news that she 
did not at first notice his condition, 

" Henri ! Henri ! They have killed the cow ! 


They have killed the cow f Oh ! Henri i Oh, 
what is it that they have done ? What is it that 
thev have done to you ? " 

She flung her arms round him, pushing aside 
the servants* They stood speechless, clinging 
to one another, man and wife p drowning in an 
unexpected flood of disaster. They stood locked, 
paralyzed for a long moment before the woman 
let her face drop suddenly on her husband's 
breast in an outburst of tears. This was ruin — 
deliberately inflicted, In the shock of it their 
numbed brains sought no explanation. 

The voice of the old woman roused them + 

"Henri! Henri! Elise 1 Elise ! Quickly! 
quickly ■! JJ 

She was out of sight ; in the courtyard. 
Alarmed, they hastened towards her P She 
stood clutching another old woman who spoke 

Vol, 1*.-14, 

with excited volubility. At the appearance of 
her son-in-law she turned, cried in triumph. 

" Henri t Henri f Les hoc he s s*en vont / Let 
baches s'en vont I ** She shouted the opprobrious 
name with a wild indifference to the German 
soldiers in the courtyard. " They are going 
everywhere — everywhere f " 

The farmer listened to the first few sentences 
of the old woman who had brought the news, 
Then, rei n vigor at ed with an in- 
credible hope, he dashed to the 

The street was 
blocked with the long 
column of field artil- 
lery, immobile until 
some obstruction in 
the town was cleared. 
The limbers were 
pi let! high with pack- 
ages ; the gunners 
who sat upon them 
were gloomy and 
silent, their long pipes 
hanging from their 
mouths. Behind 
them the road to the 
westward was packed 
w i t h troops. On 
parallel roads he saw 
the dust of marching 
columns. A dense 
smoke was welling 
out of the isolated 
farmhouse in the 
near distance. 

Coupled with the 
old woman's intelli- 
gence, these signs 
were decisive. He 
flung his arm into 
the air, forgetting his 
pain , 

''It is the retreat!' 1 
he cried. H ' The re- 
heat at last / Come, 
all of you, and look! 
The retreat ! JJ 

He could find no 
other words to ex- 
press his \oy. The entire household crowded 
round him at the gateway, Even Marie-Louise 
toddled out, clutching at her mother's hand. 

The old woman who had brought the news 
began to sob, recommenced the recital of her 
wrongs. It was her farmhouse that was now 
whelmed in dense smoke yonder, 

" I am ruined ! " she moaned, ,F Ruined 1 ' J 
u Ruined ! H cried the farmer, M So am I. 
But what matters ? What does anything 
matter? They are retreating — retreating! We 
shall be France once more— France ! 0h t ma 
femme f " He kissed her. " France ! France ! 
Freedom 1 " 

At that moment a squad of infantry, led by 
an officer, came up the street towards them from 
the town, just finding room to pass against the 
stationary artillery, I from 




The squad halted at a sharp word of command. 
The group of peasants at the gateway, intoxi- 
cated with the prospect of deliverance, scarcely 
saw them, perceived only the long columns 
heading eastward. Only Marie, the servant, 
giggled at the Gefreite, Hans Kellner, stolid in 
the near ranks. 

The officer barked out his orders. 

" Kellner ! Take two men, escort that man 
to the square ! " He pointed at thelarmer. 

The Gefreite, Hans Kellner, stepped out of the 

" Zu Befehl, Herr Leutnant I " he said, and 

A moment later the farmer found himself in . 
the powerful grasp of two soldiers. The shriek 
from his wife was simultaneous. 

'' March I " cried Kellner, raising his rifle. 

The farmer stared around him in horror and 
despair, stunned by this pitiless reversal of 
fortune. The blue sky seemed black. His eyes 
rested on the flashing bayonet, the ugly little 
dark hole of the rifle-muzzle, close against his 
face. The menace held them fascinated. 

With a wild cry his wife sprang at the Gefreite, 
clutching at his weapon. 

"Et tot, Hans Kellner I Qu'est-ce que tu penses 
& /aire ? " She used the second person singular, 
as she would to a servant, to this man whom 
she had many times ordered to chop wood, to 
perform a dozen other menial tasks. 

The German thrust her from him with a 
violent hand. He bulked huge, stolid, terribly 

" March ! " he commanded, and there was no 
disputing the order. 

Like a condemned man the farmer moved 
away between his guards. With another shriek, 
his wife threw herself at the officer, clamoured : 
" Why ? Why ? Why ? What are they going to 
do ? " She fell on her knees to him. 

The officer turned his back on her as though 
she did not exist, issued further orders to his 

The young woman got up, panting, wild r eyed. 
She was unaware that she held the tiny Marie- 
Louise tightly clutched by the hand. She saw 
her husband disappearing down the street, along 
the endless fine of guns and limbers where the 
artillerymen sat aloft, immobile like -barbaric, 
gods, cruelly indifferent. She sprang after him, 
dragging the now whimpering child by the hand. 
In a haze of perception she heard her old mother 
cursing the German officer behind her. 

The three Germans and their prisoner marched 
steadily down the long street into the town. 
Other captives, similarly escorted, preceded 
them, were brought out of the houses as they 
passed. Mme. Delavigne hastened to keep up, 
deaf to the cries of Marie-Louise pulled off her 

They reached the square just as the artillery 
commenced to move on again. At its farther end 
was a mass of male civilians, guarded by German 
soldiers with fixed bayonets. Covering the mass 
were two machine-guns on their low tripods. 
The men who squatted by the weapons ready 
to work them laughed to one another at the 

comic despair of some of the men in the 

At the near end of the square was a mass of 
women, soldiers walking up and down in front 
of them, shouting at the females in exasperation 
at the shrieks and cries. 

Between the two masses was a group of 
superior officers, calmly chatting. One had _ 
seated himself on the head of the prostrate 
statue, was flicking dust from his riding-boots. 

The farmer was led across the square, towards 
the mass of his compatriots. His wife dodged a 
German- soldier, essayed to follow him. Instantly 
a rough grasp fastened upon her shoulder, pulled 
her back. She strove towards her husband, 
fighting like a wild cat with her one free hand. 

" Henri I Henri ! " she shrieked. 

The captive, firmly held by his guards, turned 
his head with an effort. 

" Adieu, ma femme t " he shouted. " Adieu ! 
Be brave ! " She had a last glimpse of his face. 

The young woman felt herself dragged away, 
heard a brutal voice shouting guttural threats 
into her ear. A piercing cry from Marie-Louise 
brought her to realization of the little one whose 
hand she grasped. The child was torn away 
from her. She let it go in the infant's yell of 
pain at the strain upon the tiny arm. An instant 
later the mother was flung violently into the 
mass of weeping women. She saw the child 
carried, kicking and struggling, by a burly 
German soldier, to the corner of the square. 
She fainted. 

In the centre the group of German superior 
officers continued tneir calm conversation. One 
replied to a question. 

" No," he said. " They go to quite different 
destinations. The men to one place ; the women 
to another." 

The entire group turned to watch the first 
batch of male civilians marched off to the railway 

rjians Kellner stolidly marched his men up the 
hill again to the farmstead. -On the road they 
passed Marie, the servant, weeping hysterically, 
being pushed along with several other distracted 
women towards the square. Their conductors 
joked at them in debased French. The Gefreite 
reported to his officer, was received with a curt 

" And the woman ? " asked the lieutenant. 

" With the other women in the square, Herr 

" So I I expected that. Pity the servant did 
not go as well. It would have saved an escort." 
He gave further orders. 

As the Gefreite entered the courtyard the old 
grandmother sprang at him, held him with 
griping fingers. Her face was startling in its 
wild despair. 

" Marie*Louise ! " she shrieked. " Marie- 
Louise ! Where is she ? '' 

The German stared at her stupidly for an 
instant. The child ? 

" Zais bas ! " he said, brutally, and wrenched 
himself away from her. 

The old woman screamed, rushed towards the 
gateway. German soldiers barred her exit. 










Within the house the men lately billeted upon 
th? premises were working joyously at their task 
pi destruction. Laughing faces appeared at the 
windows as they flung out articles of furniture 
and clothing. Other men were dragging out 
straw from the barns, mingling it in a great heap 
with the furniture thrown into the courtyard. 

The- old woman, endowed suddenly with the 
fierce energy of the insane, rushed from one group 
to another, hampering, though she did hot stay 
thsir work. Exasperated by this annoyance, 
some of the soldiers seized her, forced her into a 
chiir that had been flung into the courtyard, 
tiei her into it. But her tongue was not stilled. 
H?r vociferation grew unbearable. They gagged 
h?r. She sat there, bound, a towel across the 
lower part of her face, gazing at them as they 
sprinkled oil liberally over the heap and about 
the barns and house. 

The fire commenced with choking volumes of 

The three battalions laboured furiously in an 
orgy of destruction. They worked in little 
groups, hacking, smashing, applying the torch. 
Slaughtered animals encumbered the courtyards 
of the hous33 on the outskirts. Dogs dashed 
down the streets, yelping in panic, their tails 
between their legs. Heavy explosions shook the 
air and earth. Great masses of smoke rose above 
the roofs, rolled down the streets. There was 
an incessant fusillade from rifle-cartridges left 
by careless soldiers in their blazing billets. The 
Germans shouted and laughed at the constant 
reports, blurred to personal danger by their 
libations at the broached wine-casks, the snatched 
b;>ttle3 from the litter of broken glass on the 
floors of the shops. The calmly-strutting officers 
permitted the orgy to the point of recklessness, 
checked it where recklessness might have passed 
int) incapacity. A haze of smoke overhung the 
town, obscured the sun. The fall of the church- 
steeple was seen only by those in the immediate 
viiiity, though all lifted their heads at its 
resounding crash. 

Through this inferno of smoking broken houses 
echoing tD harsh cries, bodies of troops passed 
interminably eastwards at their best, halt- 
ing not except for a hastily-removed obstruction. 
Battery after battery, long ammunition columns, 
dashed through at a hand gallop. Infantry, 
cho Id ng and cursing the fumes, poured through 
in long rivers of muddy field-grey, steel-helmeted, 
ride i at the slope. Their officers urged them on 
with fierce shouts as they turned their heads to 
glance at the sanitary squads busily polluting the 
water supply. The first-line transport which 
followed them was loaded high with domestic 
articles, hung round with slaughtered poultry. 
For hour after hour the hurried procession 

The trains of cattle-trucks, choked full with 
despairing captives, had long ago left the railway 
station for their remote destinations. The first 
middened scurry of ancient men, of old women, 
of young children, left behind amid this chaos, 
had long ceased. Their screams were heard no 
more. The streets were entirely filled with men 
in uniform. Those beneath the notice of the 

retreating conquerors were fleeing blindly over 
the countryside. Only here and there, in dark 
cellars underneath blazing houses, did - fear- 
paralyzed groups of old people still cower. Some 
of the soldiery made a virtue of turning them 

Night fell. The town, brick and stone built, 
did not catch fire readily, but in the lurid glare 
from houses satisfactorily ablaze groups of smok*- 
blackened men darted from building to building, 
ensured its complete destruction. Two battalions 
reported that there was no more to be done, fell 
in the ranks fitfully illumined from the red- 
windowed houses in the square, marched out in 
succession. The third battalion hastened to be 
finished with its area. Shells, French shells, 
commenced to wail over and crash among the 
ruins, an alarming spur to effort. Sharp bursts 
of rifle-fire came disturbingly from the west. 
The rearguard was in action, in close vicinity to 
the town. A German battery to the eastward 
sent shells rushing overhead. 

The first grey of dawn crjept into the sky, not 
perceptible through the pall of smoke, as Hans 
Kellner's battalion formed its ranks in the square. 
The Gefreite settled himself " at ease " between 
his comrades, waiting for the commands. In the 
interval he looked around him, saw the prostrate 
statue, now abandoned in the centre. A half* 
linked thought flitted, into his mind. Marie* 
Louise! What had happened to her? He did 
not retain it, sprang sharply to attention at the 
word of command, stood stiff and stolid. A 
moment later the battalion was in column of 
route, was marching out of the square. 

Hans Kellner was in the rear Company of the 
battalion. Individually fatigued though they 
were, the men seemed to derive new strength, 
from their corporate association, in grateful 
contrast to their scattered toil. The battalion 
swung onward like one man, with powerful 
strides, hurrying to leave behind it the horror 
of the ravaged town. The wailing, crashing 
French shells arrived more frequently ; the 
German battery behind the town banged away 
vigorously as they approached it, smiting their 
ears with the double detonations of its dis- 
charges, lighting up the sky with broad white 
flashes. This fitful illumination helped the 
battalion to cross the planks which bridged the 
wide, deep trenches excavated from side to side 
of the road. The rearguard, when it finally 
withdrew from the town, would remove those 

The battalion tramped on. The eastern sky, 
towards which they marched, grew lighter. 
But the night had not yet lifted. Looking back, 
a dark sky was suffused with a ruddy reflection. 
Fierce rifle -fire crackled, rippled, leaped to 
smashing volleys behind them. Distant machine- 
guns hammered loudly, with viciously rapid 
strokes. The German battery, which they had* 
now passed, answered the evidently increasing 
numbers of French guns with sharp loud reports, 
single now that they were no longer in front of 
its muzzles, regularly and quickly repeated, 
incessant. The battalion marched on with the 
comfor^^^^^gjjt was behind 







them, receding with every beat of its thcmsand 
boots upon the road. 

Suddenly it halted, remained stationary for so 
many minutes that an anxiety arose in every 
man, was communicated to his fellows as they 
listened to the savagely vehement rifle-fire 
behind them. An order was passed dpwn the 
column, confirming their augury. The battalion 
turned right about, its direction reversed. Hans 
Kellner's company was now at the head of the 
column. He heard the hollow hoof -beats of the 
major's horse as the commander cantered down 
the road to take up his new position in front. A 
sharp order and the battalion was once more in 
motion. This time, they marched towards that 
near ruddy glow in the sky, towards the menace 
of the fiercely-crackling rifles. They scanned the 
dark horizon with questioning eyes. Men in 
that long, sombre succession of ranks shifted 
their packs with an uneasy movement of the 
shoulders, felt suddenly hungry. 

They descended into the town, scrambled once 
more over the precarious bridges spanning the 
trenches across the road. The battery behind 
them banged away rapidly. They prayed 
inwardly that it might not cease. 

The battalion halted once more in the gutted 
square, eerie with its faint reflections upon 
skeletal walls from glowing red heaps within. 
The commandergave his orders. The Hauptmann 
commanding Kellner's company barked out his 
excerpt from them. The company ascended the 
hill to the westward, along the main road by 
which the bulk of the troops had retreated. The 
men cast unquiet glances at the shattered houses 
on either hand. The French shells rushing to 
burst among the ruins seemed each one vindic- 
tively accurate as it approached. 

The company halted. The subaltern officers 
received their final orders, returned to their 
sections. Once -more upon the march, Hans 
Kellner turned into that gateway where, not 
twenty-four hours before, he had sunned himself 
with Marie-Louise perched upon his shoulder. 
The barns on either side of it were now mere 
glowing heaps, hot to the face as he passed 
between them. The farmhouse beyond was a 
mass of charred rafters, studded with spots of 
red fire vivid in the gloom. His squad was 
halted in the courtyard ; the remainder of the 
section passed on. 

A sergeant led them to their position, just 
outside the smoking wreck of a line of stables, 
fronting the dark night westward. The men 
lay down, sheltered more or less by heaps of 
bricks. The sergeant left them to contemplate 
the invisible rifle-fire, now loud and near in 
front of them. Hans Kellner turned himself, 
looked back, saw the ghostly glimmering white 
trunks of the silent orchard wounded unto 

Suddenly a memory lodged itself in his mind, 
haunted him as he lay there awaiting the moment 
for action. It was the memory of the old woman, 
bound, gagged, in a chair in the courtyard just 
behind him. He wondered. He had not seen 
her. But then he had not looked, had not 
remembered her. What if she were ?till there, 

helpless — the fight to surge around her at any 
moment ? He tried to dismiss the thought, 
vaguely feeling it an unworthy weakness, but 
failed. At last, impelled as by a decision 
emanating from without himself, he rose, crept 
back into the courtyard. 

He found her. She sat there, beyond a glowing, 
smoking heap, her eyes glaring, terrible in her 
silent immobility among this ruin. Shrinking 
from her in a curious fear, he cut her free. She 
sat for a moment or two numbed. Her body 
seemed dead, only her eyes alive. He stood 
beside her, fascinated ; pushed her to assure 
himself that she yet lived. On the instant, with 
•a wild effort, a horrid cry, she sprang at his face. 
Startled into self-defence, he felled her headlong 
to the ground. 

He had scarcely settled himself again shoulder 
to shoulder with his comrades behind the heaps 
of bricks when he heard a torrent of hoof-beats, 
a wild rush of cavalrymen in panic, gallop upon 
the main road to his left. They swept past, like 
wilde Jager pursued by demons, down into the 
town. Behind them the rifle-fire burst out loud 
and prolonged. Hans Kellner saw sharp spurts 
of flame leap out away in the darkness into 
which he gazed. Bullets cracked above his head. 
The French were pressing very close. At the 
same moment he realized that the German 
battery on the other side of the town had ceased 
fire. From the company of infantry which now 
guarded this approach to the town came no 

He looked up to see his officer standing behind 
him, rose at his word. 

" Kellner, you are in command of this squad ! 
There will be no retreat. You will die at youi 
post i " 

Hans Kellner saluted. 

" Zu Befehl, Herr Leutnant ! " he said, simply. 

The officer passed on. 

Suddenly Kellner thought he saw shadowy 
figures advancing across the field in front of 
him. He steadied himself into a firing position, 
after one brief glance behind him, where he 
thanked God that the fire in the farmhouse had 
died down into darkness. He pulled trigger 
with the rest in one long, irregular volley from 
the company stretched far to right and left of 
him. The spurts of flame, the rapid detonations 
continued, were supported by the quick, loud 
hammering of a machine-gun ; were answered 
by similar spurts, similar detonations from the 
darkness in front. After a few minutes the 
tumult subsided. Single shots preceded an 
uncanny silence. 

In that silence Hans Kellner suddenly jumped 
with superstitious terror. A voice wailed mourn- 
fully, " Marie-Louise I Marie-Louise ! " in a 
long-drawn cry. He half-raised himself, glanced 
back at the farmhouse. A bright glow rose from 
it. With the first hostile shot he understood, in 
a flash, that he was fatally silhouetted. 

The victorious Frenchmen surged over the 
wrecked stables into the courtyard ; found an 
insane old woman raking among a heap of 
embers, stirred into fresh flame, seeking Marie- 


Portraits of Celebrities 
at Different Ages. 


Lord Rhondda was familiarly 
known before the war raised 
aim to the peerage, owes a good 
deai to the vital influences of 
heredity. Born on March z6th, 
1856, he is a son of the late 
Mr, Samuel Thomas, of Yscy- 
borwen, a far -sighted man^of business, who built 
up his wealth through realising, from the begin- 
ning, the great possibilities of Welsh coal for 
naval and maritime purposes. Both the brains 
and the business passed from father to son, and 
by him they have been 
enormously d e vei oped . 
As ft young man, I^rd 
Rhondda entered upon his 
career with the immense 
advantage of the best 
educatif in that England 
could give him, for, follow- 
ing a period of private 
tuition, he went to Cam- 
bridge, becoming a scholar 
of Caius and Jesus Colleges, 
and taking his M. A. degree 
while at the former. Re- 
turning to Wales, his early 
activities were devoted to 
the extension of the busi* 
Hess the foundations of 
which were laid by his 
father, and which was 
ultimately developed into 
the great Cambrian Com- 
bine. A few years later— 
in 1882 — he was married 
to Miss Sybil Haig, a 
daughter of Mr. George 
Augustus Haig, of Pen 
Ithou, Radnorshire, and, 
it is interesting here to 
note, a first cousin of 
Sir Douglas Haig, Com- 
mander-in-Chief of the 
British Armies in France. 
In later years Lord 
Rhondda cast his influence far beyond the confines 
of Wales. He assumed large colliery and railway 
interests in Canada and the United States, where 
he is now almost as well known as in Britain. 
More recently j however, Lord Rhondda has made 
a series of gigantic " deals " in coal and shipping 


agk ro« 

which have established him not only as the un- 
questioned sovereign figure in the Welsh coalfield, 
but the greatest individual coal owner in the world. 
Before entering the Government he was associ- 
ated, as chairman, managin ^director, director, 
or shareholder, with over thirty colliery, si lipping, 
railway, or other undertakings, in concerns 
handling over twenty million tons of coal pet 
annum, employing over sixty thousand men, 
and capitalized at eighteen million pounds, 

Notwithstanding these great interests, Lord 
Rhondda has found time for a great deal of 
valuable public work. From iSSB until 1909 
he represented Merthyr 
Boroughs in Parliament, 
and afterwards sat for a 
few months as member 
for Cardiff ; but he was 
no party hack, and it was 
largely as a revolt from 
the grow i n g li mi tat ions 
of the activities of the 
private member that he 
retired from Parliament 
to concentrate upon his 
commercial interests* The 
outbreak of the war found 
him immersed in the 
management and over- 
sight of these industrial 
concerns, but he set these 
tasks aside in order to 
discharge, at the request 
of the Government, an 
important mission to 
Canada and the United 
States, When Mr t Lloyd 
George, then Minister of 
Munitions, urged Lord 
Khondda to cross the 
Atlantic, the munitions 
industry in America was 
in a state of chaos and 
confusion, but, without 
fee or reward , he worked 
for over five months, 
harmonizing, accelerating, 
and increasing production, saving millions of 
pounds to the Exchequer, and rendering ines- 
timable service to the Empire. 

Lord Rhone" da 'c assumption of office in 
December of lol6 is a matter of recent history. 
Ther^Jf^[|l^^Yit|ip<:iF.prca.i recognition of bij 





AGE 15. 

fine work at the Local Government Board and 
at the Ministry of Food in spite of difficulties 
almost insuperable, his lordship has been un- 
sparing and untiring in his e± tarts to increase 
supplies and to keep down prices. 

Lord Rhondda s opportunities for leisure 
have been seriously curtailed since he entered 
the " win the war " Government, but even now 
he generally rinds time to go down every week- 
end to Llanwern Park h which for over thirty 
years lias been his Welsh home, although a good 
deal of official work accompanies him. Leaving 
London on Friday evening between five and six, 
accompanied by liis lady secretary, he arrives 
at Liamvern about nine o'clock, returning to 
his town house in Ashley Gardens usual! 3- fate 
on Sunday evening or early on Monday morning. 
He is, of course, in close and constant telephonic 
touch with the chief officials at the Ministry of 
Food. On Friday evening Lord Rhondda 
retires early, but he is down betimes the follow- 
ing morning, and is usually engaged until late 
afternoon with many stores of letters, both 
o facial and personal, and other important 
duties. During these hours many of the most 
vital schemes issued from the Food Ministry 
have been drafted. After three o'clock, how- 
ever, these tasks are set aside, and Lord Rhondda 
takes a good walk in the park or a ride on his 
bicycle, for he is passionately fond of the wheel. 
Whereas in town his lordship is Ixmnd to dress 
in the conventional fashion, he knows no >udi 

regulations at Llanwern, There he 
is simple, almost careless, in attire, 
reminding one of ttic late Duke of 
Norfolk in his complete indifference 
to convention. In a suit of rough 
grey cloth he frequentl y spins down 
during the summer to the coast, 
for lie h ugely ei 1 j oy s a ba t fa e . Alter 
dinner the evening is spent with 
Lady Rhondda,. or perhaps a public 
engagement in Cardilf or Newport. 
There has never been a great deal 
of entertaining at Dan worn, and 
nowadays visitors are fewer than 
ever, partly because Lord Rhondda 
is SO busy, and partly also because 
the major portion of the house 
has been turned into a Red Cross 
Hospital, where about forty 
wounded soldiers are being cared 
for. Lord Rhondda 's personal 
visitors are those who come there 
fa discuss with him the affairs of 
the great Cambrian Coal Combine 
(of which, in normal times, he h 
the directing genius) or railway 
matters, or his lordship's huge 
interests in Canada and the United 
States, Everybody, however, is 

^ assured of a most cordial welcome 

there, and to one joke all guests 
are made participants. Lord 
Rhondda conducts you to a great 
safe recently ins tall eel > and then 
lirwi. hands out for inspection the life- 
saving jacket which he wore when, 

Mr. D. A, .Thomas, he was rescued from the 


( ltti*all. 



torpedoed Lu$i- 
tania. Then, with 
a broad smile and 
a chuckle of enjoy- 
ment, he brings 
from the safe the 
copy of a placard 
issued at the time 
by a Welsh even- 
ing newspaper as 
follows : — 



Lord Rhondda 
made a special 
journey of many 
miles in order to 
secure one of these 
posters, and the 
incident continues 
to amuse him bo 

Vkrtu 1 

AGE 42 

1 Jitliatt it Fry 

immensely t h a t 

the poster is kept jealously guarded under lock 

and key. 

Sunday at Llanwern is not a strenuous 
day. In the morning there are more letters 
awaiting attention, but about eleven o'clock 
the despatch -box is put aside and his lord* 
ship walks over to * 
Langstone Court, the 
home farm, for a chat 
with Mr. Trot man, A 
couple of hours are 
occupied in discussion 
and inspection, and 
luncheon is followed 
by a perusal of tbe 
newspapers or a book, 
for Lord Rhondda 
enjoys a good tale, and 
when tea is cleared it 
is time to begin pre- 
paring for a return to 

In every direction in 
which, as Food Con- 
t roller, Lord Khondda 
has to appeal for con- 
servation and economy 
he himself sets a most 
excellent example. In 
normal times there is 
no more hospitable 
home in the world than 
Llanwern for those 
privileged t o receive 
in vi tatio ns there, but 
to-day a standard of 
frugality is practised 
probably unexampled ' mi * present 

by Google 

in the establish- 
ment of any other 
gentleman of his 
lordship's rankand 
wealth- When 
the Herefordshire 
breeders were at 
the Park a little 
before Christmas, 
the luncheon con- 
sisted of bread, 
beef, pickles, and 
apples I Here, 
whether in town 
or at Llanwern, is 
his lordship's 
own dietary: At 
breakfast he takes 
oatmeal porridge, 
kippered herring, 
coffee, no bread. 
For lunch he has 
fish with potatoes, 
a banana, custard 
pudding, with 
coffee; whilst the 
usual menu at 
dinner is as 
follows : Fish with potatoes (occasionally an 
egg), nuts and fruit {apple or pear), It will be 
noted that he has dispensed w r ith the institution 
of afternoon tea, and that he rarely, if ever, 
touches bread, making use of potatoes in its 
place. With his potatoes Lord Rhondda will 

take butter (if he can 
get it 1) but he does 
not drink tea more than 
once a week, A total 
abstainer also, coffee 
(which I may add he 
most thoroughly 
enjoys) is his only 

In many other ways 
also Lord Rhondda 
continues to effect 
economy, The si2e of 
his private notepaper 
has been reduced, and 
if a letter can be typed 
on half a quarto sheet, 
then only half a quarto 
sheet is used. Despite 
the arduous and im- 
portant nature of his 
official duties he will 
only use his car when 
absolutely necessary, for 
he knows the value of 
petrol at the Front, 
and although Llanwern 
Park is a brisk twenty 
minutes' walk from the 
station he very fre- 
quently makes the 
day, iMfoM a frx, journey on foot. 

Original from 

The Test of Courage 


Illustrated by W. R. S. Stott. 

OU see, Miss Rodney, it isn't 
a small job — this blowing 
up of a mountain. It's my 
first coyote, and I hope it 
works. It means a lot to 

Philip Dalton, eleven months out of ap 
engineering college, looked at his watch, 
and then across at the grim ugliness of the 
black mountain of rock which lay in the path 
of the new Transcontinental. 

" We shall know in a little less than four 
hours," he said, and from the mountain, 
fired in the last glow of sunset, his eyes turned 
to the girl. "She goes up at nine o'clock 
sharp to-night. It will be a beautiful piece 
of fireworks." 

The vice-president's daughter was standing 
with her back to him, her* slim figure profiled 
against the crimson light hovering still over 
the western wilderness, the light breeze tossing 
shining wisps of her golden hair, about her 
face and shoulders. The others had gone. 

For the first time since she and Dalton had 
met each other a month before they were 
alone. The fact thrilled Philip, and he looked 
at her unobserved, his face flushing with the 
emotions which she stirred within him, his 
eyes filled with the love which he would never 
have dared to let her see. They had been 
together often during this month, but there 
had always been someone else with them— 
her father, some of his guests, or her fianci, 
the Englishman who was giving her a title. 

They had never been alone like this, and 
Philip squared his strong young shoulders 
and drew in deep breaths of the keen evening 
air, and forgot that he was only one of the 
half-dozen young engineers in camp. 

For a little longer Miss Rodney stood with 
her back to him, looking off into the thousand 
miles of peopleless waste through which the 
builders of the new Transcontinental were 
driving their thin lines of steel. When she 
turned to him there was a wistful look in her 

" It's wonderful — wonderful ! " she said. 
u Oh ! what can't you do — you great big 
who work ? " 

zed by VjOOSIC 

Her voice, her eyes, the flush in her cheeks 
were other than he had ever known them 

" I'm sorry that I'm going away to- 
morrow," she continued, and there was a 
tone of bitterness in her words. " I've never 
seen this big, glorious world before. It's the 
first time I've ever known real men ! " 

He felt a throbbing joy in his breast that 
held him speechless. 

" And you really believe that you can blow 
up that mountain ? " 

" To-night, at nine o'clock, Miss Rodney," 

u And you — you are doing it ! " 

It was not a question. Wonder, delight, 
admiration shone in her eyes. 

" I'm only the engineer," he replied. " I've 
superintended the building of the coyote. See 
that other knob of the mountain off there ? 
Billinger has had charge of that. His coyote 
goes up at eight-forty-five ; mine at nine." 

" I wish I could see it ! " she exclaimed, 

" you can ! " The words shot from him 
with a suddenness that deepened the tan of 
wind and sun in his face. " There is still 
time. I will take you down now, if you will 
let me, Miss Rodney." 

" I wanted to go the other day, but Lord 
Chelton said that it was no place for fr'woman." 

Her lips tightened a little. Chelton was 
the man she was to marry. 

" Will you go ? " he asked. " Will you 
look at my coyote ? " 

11 Yes." 

She laughed at the unconcealed pleasure 
in his face. Her blue eyes dazzled him 
with the sudden mischievous excitement that 
leaped into them. 

" We'll begin here," he exclaimed. " You 
see these wires, Miss Rodney ? One runs a 
quarter of a mile over there to my coyote ; 
the other to Billinger's. At the other end of 
this wire — mine — there are two hundred cases 
of dynamite and a hundred and fifty sacks of • 
powder. To-night we will bring an electric 
battery up to this rock, attach the wire, and 
when you press the button the mountain 
blows up. Do you understand ? " 




" I see — I see ! " she cried, softly, leaning 
close to him as he picked up the ends of the 
wires. " I wonder- — " She looked at him. 
" I wonder if they'd let me press the button 
to your coyote ? " 

His hands trembled as he replaced the 

41 1 — I'd be the happiest man in the camp 
if you would/' he said. 

" I will, if they'll let me." 

" They " 

" I mean my father and Lord Chelton." 

Again he saw her lips tighten. 

He led the way down the ridge into the 
little valley that lay between them and the 
mountain. The pa h was rough and filled 
with masses of broken trap and boulders. 
In places he held back his hand to her, and 
she gave him her own, laughing into his eyes. 

"What would they say ? " she demanded. 

He knew whom she meant by they, and 
he laughed back at her, with a thrill of 
pleasure which she could not fail to see. 

A sombre gloom had begun to shroud the 
black wall of the mountain when they came 
to the mouth of the coyote. The opening 
was about four feet square. Philip went 
in first, and the girl followed Jiim. The 
blackness of night lay ahead of them. The 
girl's hand clung suddenly to his arm, and 
he felt her shudder. 

" Ugh ! it's dark— and cold ! " 

" There's a lantern here," he said. " I'll 
light it." 

In the glow of the light the girl's face 
shone pale and tense. They had gone- 
twenty paces in the chamber. Suddenly 
he stopped. 

" You're not afraid, are you ? " he asked. 

" No-0-0-0 — not afraid. Only — two hun- 
dred cases of dynamite " 

He laughed again, vpth a. joyous ring in 
his voice, and in this moment, as they stood 
alone under the mountain, with the" faint 
glow of the lantern lighting up their faces, 
it seemed the most natural thing in the world 
for him to take the little hand that still 
clung to his arm. 

" It can't hurt us," he said. " You could 
build a bonfire in here and nothing would 

happen. Look " He held the lantern 

high above his head, and she saw that the 
rock-wall of the chamber was four or five 
feet above them. " The dynamite and the 
powder are under us," he went on, " with 
the exception of fifty cases which are piled 
up at the end of this chamber. There's 
ten feet of space here, and the chamber is 
twenty feet wide. It runs back a hundred 

yards under the mountain. The dynamite 
and the powder are covered over with six 
feet of cement and broken rock. The wire 
goes under ground- just outside the mouth 
of the chamber, and causes the explosion 

from beneath. Now " He was talking 

to her eagerly in his enthusiasm. " Now— 
by leaving this air-chamber — we shall get 
more than one explosion. There will be 
three or four where, if there were no air- 
chamber and no vent, there would be but 
one, and we should lose three times the 
explosive force we will now get. The first 
or second explosion will explode the fifty 
cases of dynamite back there at the end of 
the chamber. By George, it ought to rip 
thunder out of the mountain ! " 

" By George, it will ! " she cried, and for 
an instant he felt her fingers tighten about 
his own. 

" I — I beg your pardon " he stammered. 

" For what ? " she demanded. " Because 
you can work up enthusiasm enough in real 
work to forget yourself ? It's glorious 1 
I wish I were a man. If I* were I'd — I'd 
do something — something big — like blowing 
Up mountains, building railroads " 

" You really think it's big ? " . he asked, 
in a whisper. " I thought — you know " 

" Yes, I know what you thought," the 
girl interrupted, as he hesitated. " Everyone 
thinks the same. If I were a man Vd be 
a man ! " 

This time he could not see that curious 
tightening of her lips. 

11 I'll show you the dynamite," he sug- 
gested. " You're not afraid ? " 

He led her deeper into the chamber. No 
sound came to them now. In the intensity 
of the silence he could hear the girl at his 
side breathing quickly, and when he raised 
the lantern above his head he saw that her 
eyes were wide open and their pupils big 
and dark. A moment more and the lantern 
glow began to reveal row upon row of boxes 
in their path. 

" That's the dynamite," he said, and his 
voice sounded hollow and unreal. 

" Ugh ! " shuddered his companion, and 
he felt her pressing closer to him. Almost 
in the same breath she clutched his arm with 
her free hand. " What was that ? " 

" Nothing," he began— and stopped. 

He had heard the sound, faint at first, 
like a shovelful of gravel falling upon the 
rock-floor behind them. It was followed now 
by a strange rushing sound that seemed to 
send a ihvoiy through the mountain, and 




Philip whirled toward the mouth of the 
coyote. There he should still have seen 
the pale light of day filtering through the 
outlet. In place of that there was the black- 
ness of night. He held the lantern behind 
him, and looked hard. It was still blacky 
and there rushed over him a feeling of horror. 
If. he had been alone he would have cried 
out, and would have run like a madman to 
the place where the light should have been. 
In a flash he knew what had happened. A 
rock had loosened over the mouth of the 
chamber, letting down a slide of rock and 
earth. They were shut in ! He tried to 
speak calmly, but Miss Rodney had felt the 
thrill of horror that passed like an electric 
shock through his body. 

" A little dirt falling over the mouth of 
the tunnel,", he said. " I'm afraid you'll 
have to soil your dress getting out, Miss 
Rodney, and incidentally you'll have the 
pleasure of seeing me work for a few minutes." 

Miss Rodney did not reply as they retraced 
their steps. The lantern-light revealed the 
coyote vent choked with earth and broken 
trap, and when Philip saw the trap, wedged 
and crushed in the hole, he placed the lantern 
on the flqpr, so that the girl could not see 
his face. He dared not speak for a moment, 
and turned from her to strip off his ceat. 
With a little cry Miss Rodney sprang to the 
lantern, and in another moment she was 
holding it close to his face, staring into his 
horror-filled eyes. His face was as white 
as death, and his lips were set in a hard, 
tense line. In the girl's face Philip did not 
see what he had expected to see. She said 
nothing. ' Her eyes were almost black. The 
lantern shook in her hand. He knew that' 
she had seen in his face all that he could 
have told her, and yet in her own there was 
none of the weakness that he had feared. 
It was like a white cameo in the half gloom. 

He turned from her and began to work, 
while she held the lantern at his back. At 
first he made easy progress into the loose 
trap. Then he came to the wedged chunks, 
and he knew that he was fighting against a 
wall almost as solid as the mountain itself. 
As an engineer he knew the force and weight 
that it had taken to choke the mouth of the 
coyote in this way. Outside there were 
hundreds, perhaps thousands, of tons of rock 
and earth. But he did not stop. Something 
seemed to break in his head. 

Only the presence of Miss Rodney kept 
him from shouting — from shrieking out in 
his despair for human help, though his voice 
would have died in the heart of the mountain. 

He rolled and tossed back mass after mass of 
rock. His hands were torn and bleeding. 
The knife-edged trap ripped the arms of his 
flannel shirt into shreds. Beads of water 
ran down his face — a sweat of horror more 
than of exertion. He worked — because he did 
not want to face the girl, and because there 
always 'lingers a hope — one chance in ten 
thousand — even in, the face of death. He 
knew there was no more than that chance. 
A little later he saw that there was no use in 
continuing the hopeless fight. Rocks which 
ten men could not have moved barred his 
way. He straightened himself, and with his 
pocket handkerchief wiped the* sweat and 
dirt from his face. Before he had looked at 
her Miss Rodney put her hand on his ^bruised 
and naked arm. When he turned she held 
the lantern on a level with their faces. There 
was no need of words — of explanations. For 
three-quarters of an hour she had watched 
him fight in the face of that wall of rock and 
earth with a strength which she had never 
before seen in a man. 

" You have done splendidly," she "said, 
" but I don't believe you can go on." 

" No — I can't go on," he said, knowing 
that she was demanding the truth of him« 
" I can't go on. We're shut in. Oh, my 
God " His panting breath sounded ter- 
rible in the death-like stillness of the chamber, 
and suddenly he caught the hand that was 
on his arm and crushed it almost fiercely to 
his breast. " If I had ten thousand lives I'd 
give them up — every one — if you were out 
there — and I was in here — alone ! " 

" I know you would," she replied, and her 
voice was steadier than his. " I've been watch- 
ing you, and I know. It's because you're of 
that sort that I'm — I'm — not afraid." 

".But you don't understand," he said. 
" A thousand men — ; — " 

" I do understand," she interrupted. 
"What time is it?" 

He took out his watch. Her soft hair 
touched his cheek as they bent together over 
the timepiece. It was a quarter past seven. 

" An hour and forty-five minutes," said 
the girl. A shudder ran through her body- 
She placed the lantern on the floor and 
looked at him, her face a pale shadow in the 
gloom. ** We shall never know what hap- 
pens/' she went on, and he wondered if 
horror and fear had driven her mad. " We 
shall never know what happens — and they'll 
never know what has happened. All their 
lives they'll wonder where we disappeared 
to. I've been thinking — thinking — thinking 

— «■• wfKm mltfM"' d0 you 






know, I'm not afraid. It's curious, but I'm 
not. I suppose it's because there's a lot of 
man in me. I've always wanted to be a man, 
to do things — big things. This is the first 
time I've ever been glad — that I'm a woman." 

He came close to her and placed the 
lantern at their feet. 

" If you had only been a man — if you only 
had ! " he exclaimed in a voice that was low 
and. thrilling. " If you had been a man I 
wouldn't have brought you down here. If 
you had been any other woman on the earth 
I wouldn't have brought you. I did it 
because " 

" Why ? " she asked, softly. 

He had taken her hands again, but he 
dropped them now, 

" Miss Rodney, we're almost equals here 
now, aren't we ? I'm no longer just a mere 
engineer paid a salary that would just about 
buy your father's cigars. I'm a man. And 
you're no longer a vice-president's daughter, 
a great heiress, and the fianci of a titled man. 
You're just a woman. Our world is this 
little chamber under the mountain, the last 
little world we shall ever have. If it won't 
hurt you— if you don't care — I'd like to — 
to tell you " 

He stopped, almost wishing that 'he might 
recall his words. 

11 Go on," she urged, softly. " Go on — 

u I asked you to come down, Miss Rodney, 
because — just once — I wanted to be alone 
with you, to have you all to myself. I knew 
it wouldn't happen again — that you were 
going away to-morrow — and I was sure that 
it wouldn't do any harm, and that I should 
be happier afterward. I did it because I 
loved you." 

There was a silence. It seemed like an 
eternity.. And then, swiftly, in that terrible 
stillness, the light began to fade away. It 
grew lower, flickered, and went out. 

u The oil is gone," he said. 

He heard a movement. Something groped 
out to him "in that stark blackness. It was 
the girl's hand. It touched his shoulder. 
Her other hand touched his face. He felt 
her near — nearer. And then, suddenly, her 
arms were around his neck. 

" And that — that's just why this is the first 
time in my life I'm glad that I'm a woman," 
she whispered. " It's the first time I've 
ever known a man and I love him, if he is 
nothing but a great big god of a civil engineer." 

In the silence of that moment's thrilling 
joy there sounded the low tinkling note of 
the little bell in Philip Dalton's watch. It 


was half-past seven. In the sound there was 
something indescribably more significant than 
the mere intonation ef time. It was like 
the first tolling stroke of a church bell miles 
and miles away, softened by great distance, 
. and muffled by the walls of the mountain 
until it came to then* only in a whisper. The 
girl's arms tightened about Philip's neck, 
and he felt her shudder, as though the note 
of the little bell had touched a vibrant chord 
in her body, and he drew her closer and closer 
in his own arms, until he was straining her to 
him with a strength which he did not realize 
until a little cry of pain broke from her lips. 
He loosened his arms, and in the darkness he 
turned up her face until- their lips met, and 
then he heard her breath come quickly and 
sobbingly, and, in a moment, she was crying 
with her face against his breast. He kissed 
her again and again, and in the cavernous 
stillness of the mountain his low words rang 
with a strength and courage that after a 
little lifted her face from his breast, and 
made her take his own face between her two 

" I'm .sorry, Philip," she said, speaking his 
name for the first time, " but I just couldn't 
help it. It — it isn't because I'm afraid. I'm 
not afraid. I'm not ! " 

She drew his face down to her. 

41 1 can't be afraid with you," she said. 

Her courage, her faith, her love — the warm 
throbbing of her body against him, filled him 
witji a madness which he struggled to fight 
back. For a few moments he dared not 
speak, but stroked her hair and fondled her 
face while he bit his lips until the blood came. 
She was his. She had given herself to him, 
and never had life called to him as it did now* 
She felt his arms and his shoulders harden, 
she felt the stiffening of his whole body, and 
suddenly he held her back from him, and his 
madness found vent in words. 

" By Heaven, you shall live — you shall! 19 
he cried. " There's another lantern on a 
ledge near the vent. Wait until I find it." 

She stood alone, trembling in the blackness, 
while he struck a match and searched for the 
lantern. He found it — half-filled with oil* 
His face was not white now. His eyes almost 
frightened her. She stood near, holding the 
light, while he went at the rocks again. Hei 
presence put the strength of five men in his 
arms and body, and he rolled back rock after 
rock that he had not been able to move before* 
In the madness of his fight, in the superhuman 
efforts he was putting in this last struggle, 
time ceased to exist for him- He did not hear 
his watch when it tinkled off the hour of eight* 




Only, each time as he turned his eyes, he 
saw Isobel Rodney's golden head shining in 
the dim lantern glow, her eyes fixed upon him 
with a love and faith that drove reason and 
judgment from him. But at last he came 
to the end. He came to rocks that he could 
not move, and as he strained until every 
muscle in his body seemed to tear themselves 
asunder his breath came- in a groaning cry. 
The girl came to him. Her arms were around 
him again, and he sank down, broken, bleeding, 

" You can't," she whispered, stroking back 

his hair. " You can't do it, and — and " 

The look in his eyes frightened her again. 
11 Philip — you look so strange — you frighten 
me. You're — you're not " 

" I'm all right," he said, pulling himself 
together with an effort. " Little sweetheart, 
I'm afraid we've lost." 

" What time is it ? " she asked. • 

He pulled out his watch. 

" Twenty-five minutes to nine," said the 
girl. There was not a tremor in her voice. 
Her fingers continued to fondle his hair. 
" Yes, we've lost ; but haven't we won a 
little something, Philip ? " She put her face 
down against his hot cheek, " I want to 
walk," she said. " Can't we walk — back- 
wards and forwards ? " 

He placed the lantern on one of the rocks, 
and with her hand in his they walked slowly 
out into the gloom. 

" Yes, I've won something — the greatest 
tiling in the world," he said, and there was a 
thrill of the old strength and fearlessness in 
his voice. " I wouldn't exchange what I've 
won for life — not for ten lives ! It's you. 
You're losing everything. But after all — it 
won't be so very bad " 

She interrupted him, her fingers clasping 
his more firmly. 

11 No, it won't be so very bad," she said, 
bravely. " There are a good many worse 
things, Philip. I, too, would not exchange 
what I've found in this mountain for that 
out there. Do you know, if I had to keep 
that contract — money for a title — and I had 
a choice, I'd stay here with you." 

" God bless you ! " he whispered. 

" I would," she said, as though she thought 
he doubted her. " And now, Philip, let's talk 
of what we would have done if you had only 
told me that you loved me, up there on the 
rock — where the wires are. Let's make it 
real. I'm going with you — everywhere — and 
I'm going to help you build railroads and 
bridges, and blow up mountains. You'll let 
me, won't you ? " 

He was choking. He drew her close ih his 
arms, and held his face away from her so that 
she would not discover the hot tears that 
were running down his cheeks. 

" Yes," he said; nt we'll go everywhere — 
together. Nothing can part us — even in 

" Nothing," she said. 

They both stood silent, and under their 
feet there came a sudden and terrible throb — 
a throb that grew* stronger even as they held 
their breath, until the mountain seemed to 
tremble over their heads and under their feet, 
and was followed by a dull and distant roar, 
like rumbling thunder smothered in the bowels 
of the earth. 

" Fifteen minutes more," she said, and the 
hand that stroked his face was like ice. 

"Yes," he replied, "that's Billinger's 
" They went back into the circle of ghostly 
light thrown out by the lantern. She lifted 
her eyes straight to his face, and he marvelled 
at the strength which he saw in them. Her 
cheeks were like wax. Her lips were pale. 
Against this white contrast her blue eyes 
shone deeper and darker. The coils of her 
golden hair had loosened, and suddenly he 
peached up and shook them down, so that her 
shining tresses rippled about her shoulders, 
filling his nostrils with a sweet breath as he 
strained her close to him again, burying his 
face in that golden glory. 

" My wife ! " he cried to her, softly. 

He felt her arms tighten about him. 

Clear and distinct the bell in Philip Dalton's 
watch began tinkling off the hour of nine. 

One — two — three — four. He crushed the 
girl's head in his arm, smothering the sound 
from her. Five — six — seven. He pressed his 
lips to hers. Eight — nine ! 
. Her face was growing cold. Her lips were 
cold. Her arms slipped from his shoulders. 
She became a weight in his arms. 

" God in heaven be praised ! " he breathed. 

He looked into her white, still face again, 
buried his face in the warm sweetness of her 
hair, and as he waited whispers of prayer 
formed themselves on his lips. 

Ti ck — tick — tick — tick. 

He could hear his watch. A clammy chill 
crept through him. The roar of the bursting 
mountain seemed already to fill his head. 
Sickness — weakness — overcame him, and he 
sank down upon the cold rock-floor with Jus 
unconscious burden. 

Tick— tick— tick. 

His watch was beating off the seconds, 
faster and faster. He counted them — ten 







*33 \ 

twenty, forty, sixty — and they raced so swiftly 
that his brain could not follow. Something 
had happened to the wire up on the rock. 
They were attaching the battery. A moment 

The seconds grew into minutes. Five — ten 
— he lifted his head. Good heavens, what did 
it mean ? The girl moved, and he strained 
her to him. She was coming back to life* 
His fingers touched her soft throat, and he 
groaned aloud. The bell in his watch struck 
again. It was a quarter past nine. It would 
happen soon — it must happen soon. There 
had been a delay — they were pressing the 
button now, A little longer — just a little 

A sound came to him. It was not the 
ticking of his watch. It was not the little 
bell. He raised his head, his eyes shining 
madly. It was a voice — a faint shout — 
beyond the choked-up mouth of the coyote. 

He dropped the girl and sprang to the 
rocks, and his voice rose in shrieks that were 
like those of a madman. Answering shouts 
came to him through the mass of earth and 
rock. They heard him ! He heard the beat 
of metal picks on hard rock I-^-one, two, 
three, and then an army of them ! Their 
click, click, click, came to him faintly, 
swiftly, and he continued to shout, until he 
staggered back exhausted. The girl had 
regained consciousness and was swaying on 
her feet, holding out her arms to him and 
murmuring incoherent things. He sprang to 
her and caught her in his arms. 

" We're saved ! " he shouted. " Something 
has happened ! They're out there — they hear 
us — I can hear them working ! " 

She looked at him dumbly, uncomprehend- 

ingly, and her hands went to his face again, 
and in her eyes there was a look as though she 
feared the strain had been too much for him. 

" Come — listen ! " he cried, and he drew 
her to the choked mouth of the coyote, 
holding her trembling form in his arms. 

For a moment they held their breath. 

In the silence there came to them distinctly 
the rapid beating of many picks upon rock. 

An hour later a crumbling slide of rock and 
earth cleared the mouth of the coyote. A 
flood of warm fresh air rushed in upon Philip 
and the girl he still held in his arms. In a 
moment he was carrying her over the dibris. 
A dozen lanterns flashed in their faces. A 
score of men had drawn back, leaning on their 
picks and crowbars, staring at them white- 
faced and silent, as men will stare at those 
who have come out of the jaws of death. 
But one sprang forward and caught the girl 
from Philip. It was her father, the vice- 
president, and from behind him Philip heard 
the voice of one of the men which told him 
what had happened. A rock had fallen upon 
the wire leading to the dynamite and had 
severed it. The battery had failed to explode 
the mountain, and men had come down to 

He drew in great draughts of air, and 
looked at Isobel and her father. The girl 
had freed herself frojn his arms, and another 
man was standing near, holding out his hands 
to ,her. It was the Englishman. And then 
Philip saw the girl draw herself erect — turn — 
and search "for him ; and when she saw him 
standing there in the glow of many lanterns, m 
white, torn, and waiting, she went to him 
with a great, sobbing cry. 


Two places in our island home 
Reveal the influence of Home. 

1. A bloom in Nature's choicest dress, 
A clustered mass of loveliness. ' 

2. " But, while she speaks, he's seen no more " ; 
And other hopes than " hers are o'er ! " 

3. A name of one of royal line, 
Who died when nearly forty-nine. 

4. Two words a place in England show ; 
The last and last of first must go. 

6. The star acquired both love and fame ; 
What was the lady's other name ? 

6. Foreign, and English, beauty spot, 
Here head and tail possessing not. 

7. In gloom the world is overspread, 
Unless it is bereft of head. 

8. A man's opinion ; turn it round, 
Unchanged the sentiments are found. 

°. Though fastened up it ought to stay, 

Some of it means to run away. 
VoL Iv.-15. 


10. The half of sixty-four to us 
Is simply zero to the Russ. 


Answers to Acrostic No. 42 should be addressed to the 
Acrostic Editor, The Strand Magazine, Southampton 
Street, Strand, London, W.C.2, and must arrive not later 
than by the first post on March 12th. 

Two answers may be sent to' every light. * 

With their answers to this acrostic, solvers must send also 
their names and addresses. 

Answer to No. 40. 

1. F atho M 

2. U nd O 

3. L e 

4. L a u N 

Answer to No. 41. 

1. T u B 

2. E ate R 

3. N on 

4. N o W 

5. Y o N 

6. S ina I 

7. O oea N 

8. N aggin G 
Notes.— Light 1. The Notes.— Light 1. Bio- 

Tempest, " Full fathom five." genes. 2. Samson's riddle. 
4. Laundry, dry. ^ 8. Or " Nag." 






• of the 


who was 



Translated from the French by Frances Keyzer 


HIS is not a novel, but a faithful 
record. During a t scent visit to 
Russia I became acquainted — in 
alt its secret details— with the 
marvellous adventures of Ike rough 
and mystical Don Jifan, whom a 
!1 neurasthenic Empress aspired to 
transform into a Mazarin — one 
of th& most extraordinary phenomena in human 
history. 1 have even obtained from a former 
Minister a copy of the facts compiled by the Qkrana 
regarding this bearded pseudo-monk. And I have 
thus been able to follow, step by step, the strange 
destiny of the impostor, from the humble Siberian 
village to the imperial palace, and thence to his 
tragic end. 

Rasputin's body is hardly cold r and the majority 
of those who knew him are there to establish the 
truth. I have cast aside the numberless legends 
*hat have gathered over the favourite* s tomb, only 
retaining facts that could be praised, and have 
carefully kept to the domain of history, not allowing 
myself to introduce an atom of invention in the 
story that follows. 

Gregory Effimovitch, called "Rasputin/' 

The small village of Pokrovskoie, far in, the 
Siberian taiga, is never mentioned in the district 
without a feeling o£ horror. When a " mam- 
mouchka '* wants to frighten her children, she 
says ; "I'll send you to Pokrovskoie I " 

What is the reason of this evil reputation ? 

Pokrovskoie was founded about a century ago 
by a score of discharged convicts. Having 
found wives in the neighbouring villages these 
peculiar settlers sought an easy profession — 
they became horse-thieves. Their descendants 
followed in their footsteps. As drinks at a 
horse - sale are a universal custom, life in 
Pokrovskoie was soon one perpetual orgy of 

In this knaves* paradise Gregory Effimovitch 
was born on the 7th of July, 1872. 

-His father, an incorrigible drunkard, had the 
worst possible reputation. He was nicknamed 
"Rasputin," which signifies a rake — con<- 
sidered quite a glorious title at Pokrovskoie , 
where vice of every kind was the order ot 
the day. 

Gregory inherited from his father a tumble- 
down hut, a few acres of land, and this enviable 
nickname, which he was eventual! y to make so. 
singularly notorious. 

From childhood he had a taste for every form 
of crime and vice. Dr. Litchernof, who treated 
him for smallpox, has given an extraordinary- 
account of him. 

'' He was," said the doctor, M a fine dark 
child, with such a burning expression in his eyes 
that even I felt strangely affected by it, Thick- 
set, strongly built, brave, an arrant liar, he soon 
became the terror of the district* The old 
priest used to give him ten copecks a week to 
keep away from church* Strangely enough. 

^^mssfnfimii^^ "■ whe ™ r 




he led. Among them were Striapcheflf and 
Barnaby, whoaitcrwards shared in his successes/* 

When he was fourteen he robbed and nearly 
killed an old man, for which lie received twenty 
strokes of the whip in the market-place. This 
public chastisement roused in him one of those 
religious fits that often recurred at a later date. 
He began to frequent the churches and monas* 
teries in the district, and was to be seen on his 
knees by the roadside murmuring prayers and 
lashing himself with thistles and nettles. 

" He is inspired 1 " was whispered on all sides. 
The roubles showered into the small wooden 
bowl that he carried with him. But something 
occurred that put a stop to his growing reputa- 
tion as a holy man. One evening in one of his 
paroxysms he assaulted an old beggar woman. 
An inquiry ensued, but owing to the age of the 
victim it led to no result. But from that day he 
gave up liis religious comedy 
and returned to burglary 
and drink. Shortly atter- 
wards he was condemned 
for horse-stealing, and two 
years later for perjury. 

Notwithstanding his evil 
reputation he married in 
1S95 a charming girl, OJga 
Chanigoff, who brought him 
a cart and a pair oi horses, 
a few acres of land, and 
three thousand roubles, 
These Rasputin converted 
into vodka, keeping only 
the cart and horses, and 
became a carrier, 

Ratputin Find* His 

On the night of the 5th 
of February, 1903, a blight 

" If you don't leave off insulting me I'll 
drive the horses against a tree and we shall both 
of us be killed like dogs ! " 

'* You alone, Rasputin^ will be killed, because 
I am favoured by the Lord." 

" All you priests say that," grumbled the 

" You have only to make the experiment. It 
is not priests alone who enjoy protection from 
heaven. Everybody can become worthy of 
divine help by prayers and sacrifice. Even you 




and frosty night, a young priest roused Rasputin 
from a drunken sleep to drive him to a neigh- 
bouring village. During the drive the priest 
told Rasputin bluntly that he ought to be 
ashamed of the life he was leading. The carrier 
was furious. 

could become the favourite 
of our Lord." 

"What must 1 do ? " 
asked Gregory, somewhat 

" Nothing simpler. Go 
to-morrow to the monastery 
of Verkhotourie. Remain 
there a tort night in medi- 
tation and lasting. When 
you leave you will be a 
changed man. Instead of 
passing pleasures you will 
know the ecstasy of prayer. 
The troubles of this life 
will no longer affect you. 
Something tells me that a 
brilliant future awaits 

Zaboro v sky's ardent 
words made a strong impression on his com- 

A fortnight after this curious conversation 
Gregory Rasputin returned to Fokrovskoie, 
His wile and children wore mourning, believing 
him to be dead 

" You are right, my beloved ones/* said the 
carrier. " for he who returns to-day is not the 
Gregory you have known hitherto. Gregory, 
the thief and drunkard, has gone for ever. 
St, Michael appeared to me whilst I was in the 
monastery, lie inspired me from heaven, and 
I am now the humble representative of divine 
virtue on earth." 

Pokrovskoie still remembers this remarkable 
miracle. Gregory, once a disgrace to the com- 
munity, was now imbued with religious fervour. 
He wandered from village to village, making 



Virgin, and St, Michael, and was frequently 
seen shedding copious tears, kneeling before the 
icons and praying that he might sutfer in order 
to be worthy of Paradise. 

At night, by candlelight, whilst his household 
slept, he would study holy books: 

This mystical period came, practically enough, 
at a time when Rasputin had difficulty in 
meeting the daily necessities of Hie- He de- 
clared that St. Michael bad commanded him 
to build a great church in honour oi the Arch- 
angel. Little by little he collected enough money 
to enable him to extend his circle. He went to 
Kazan, to Slew, 
to Moscow, mak- t ^^wsgggg ra 
ing incoherent 
speeches to the 
people, who were 
attracted by his 
personal magnet- 

When he had 
acquired the re- 
putation of a 
stapata, or holy 
man, Rasputin 
returned to 
Pokrovskoie. with 
the intention of 
remaining there 
and following his 
fruitful calling. 

Ho was, how- 
ever, somewhat 
troubled by his 
home life, and he 
had to leave his 
wife and child- 
ren. Therefore, 
although he con- 
tinued to provide 
for them, he no 
longer resided 
under the same 
roof, but in a 
humble cottage, 
surrounded by 
icons and wax 
candles, in an 
atmosphere oi 

Peope began to 
flock from all 

sides to this former demon who had become a 
prophet* Sinners, male and female, acquired 
the rigfit, by giving plentifully in coin, to kiss 
the liem of his cloak and gain the good will of 
St. Michael- 
One morning he announced his intention of 
entering the monastery at Argued, whither St. 
Michael had called him to confide to him 
matters of a sensational and secret nature 
which he, Rasputin, would eventually com- 
municate to alh 

He kept his word, and a month later brought 
back from Argueft the grotesque doctrine that 
was soon to secure him glory, -■ power, and 
fortune. ninii 



by LiOOgJC 

* f I am now :ible/' he proclaimed, 1' to guaran- 
tee the salvation of every soul, as the Supreme 
Being has just transmitted to me a spark of his 

In a few days the news circulated all through 
Siberia and even beyond. Then followed a 
huge arrival of believers of both sexes. 

The new doctrine, in the words of the prophet 
himself, was as follows :■ — 

" In order that there should be contrition there 
must be sin + Sin only brings repentance when 
it has been committed voluntarily. Sin, then. 
my dear brethren; and our united prayers 

will bring divine 

Numerous were 
the adepts who 
favoured this new 
cult that allied 
frailty with for- 
giveness. Soon 
prayer with sac- 
rifice " attracted 
to Pokrovskoio all 
that was de- 
mented in Russia, 
Mr. Verintsew, 
an inhabitant of 
the Siberian 
village, has kindly 
given me the fol- 
lowing description 
of one of theso 
seances; — 

"At eight 
o'clock at nigh 1, 
when the stars 
were shining in 
the heaven s— 
Rasputin poeti- 
cally calls them 
1 the eyes of the 
Supreme Being ' 
—the chief and 
his followers 
people the woods 
that surround 

" An enormous 

hole is made in 

the ground whiL- 

Rasputin invokes 

divine protection. The hole is idled with lous 

and leaves, which the prophet ignites, offering a 

prayer to St, Michael. 

" Oriental perfumes bum in a small casou~ 
letie. Gregory throws hand f tils of incense on 
the pyre, from which issue columns of smoke* 

" Men and women seek each other's hands 
in the growing darkness and are soon turning 
madly in a circle around the perfumed hearth. 
Little by little the rhythm and the dance are 

" ' Sin for salvation 1 ' chants Rasputin, 
in a minor key- 

" * We %\xi for salvation \ J repeat the adepts. 
[ At _:li ! r^W d '.the _ U f aithf ul ' grow giddy. 



t length the 1 " faathii 







Occasionally one slips and falls, dragging others 
with him* 

" ' Rise, my brethren,' commands the high 
priest, ' You have still to sutler,' 

CI And the dance continues quieter, ever 

*■ But the last embers have died out* Darkness 
suddenly encompasses this mad throng. 

Hi * Lord, we sin for salvation ! ' 
' n Above die shrieks and sobs of the people 
Rasputin's voice is heard and a scene ensues 
that baffles description. 

" f Sin for Sid vat ion I Sin for salvation t ' 
rises like a battle-cry, 

" At length the folly is over, ' I cleanse 
you of your sins, my dear brethren, and I bless 
you I * 

"The sacrilegious blessingof Rasputin closes 
the ceremony. 

Ceremonies in the new church founded by 
Rasputin, Striapcheff became his secretary 
and business manager. 

Lydia Bachmakow, 

In April, 1904. during a pilgrimage to Kazan, 
Rasputin came across Madame Lydia Bach- 
makow, with several of her followers. 

She was an amiable woman, over forty, & 
widow and a millionairess, and a passionate 
devotee. She took a constant part in religious 
solemnities and in acts of piety, submitting 
herself to the most severe penance, observing 
the hardest rules. Nevertheless, she was a 
tired and disappointed woman. Rasputin's 
doctrine immediately appealed to her. 

1 Sin for salvation f J> proclaimed the cynical 
preacher, " and the gates of Paradise shall be 
opened to you 1 " 

From a f KoU^^^h 


fi - Remember the building of our church I * 
proclaims the practical chief, And roubles 
fall faster and faster into J lis outstretched 
hands. Ji 

It would be superfluous to add anything to 
this picture. Gregory the carrier had at last 
found his vocation. 

Rasputin Takes Society by Storm. 

Rasputin looked philosophically on the growing 
success of liis lucky industry. 

But it would be unjust to accuse him of 
ingratitude towards th<jse who had been his 
com panio ns in t h e pas t * Than ks to his ge ne ros i t y 
his wife, Ol ga — with whom he had ceased all 
intercourse— lived the life of a rich widow, and 
brought up her son and two daughters in com- 
fort, liaraaby, the ex-gendarme, found himself 
laised to the post of Grand Master of the 

Madame Bachmakow had never dared dream 
of such a wonderful creed, and it seemed to her 
as if Gregory's doctrine had been expressly 
made for her benefit. 

It was a providential piece of luck for the 
ex-carrier, and one that he took care to make 
the most of. The lady returned with him to 
Pokrovskoie in a magnificent motor-car which 
she had presented to the holy man. 

She took all the expense of the community 
upon herself, and promised Gregory a large 
income, only asking, in return, to be allowed 
to follow the chief wherever he went, and to 
work for his greater glory. 

Shortly aiterwards Rasputin left Pokrovskoie, 
which was now far too small to satisiy his 
ambitions Madame Bachmakow approved of 
his derisionfl ' 'She w*^ eager to introduce her 



Under the patronage of the millionaire widow 
every door was thrown open to the " chosen 
of the Lord." 

His contempt for " good manners " was 
regarded as a proof of sanctity. He disdained 
the use. of a fork, and stuffed his mouth with 
his fingersr 

4 ' He is an apostle of the primitive period I " 
said Madame Bachmakow, in ecstasy. 

But Striapcheff and Barnaby were watching. 

" Petrograd awaits you, dear* Gregory ! " 
they constantly repeated to him. " It is only 
there that you will find a field worthy of your 

At length Rasputin allowed himself to be 
influenced, and on December 5th, 1904. he 
entered the capital. 

Rasputin was not unknown in Petrograd. 
Madame Bachmakow had advertised her chief 
in a first-class manner among her friends. 

Nor had the Press been overlooked. Frequent 
communications had enlightened the public 
about the deeds and movements of the innovator. 

Over two thousand " believers " were at 
the station to receive the ' ' chosen one. " Women 
struggled to kiss the hem of his garment. Men 
knelt, cap in hand, while Rasputin — like the 
,Pope — blessed them with his hand. 

Fresh fields were now open to the ex-carrier 
of Pokrovskoie wherein to satisfy his insatiable 

All the aristocracy of Petrograd were to be 
met in the magnificent apartment in the Prospect 
Newsky that Madame Bachmakow had rented 
and furnished for the "holy father." 

Visionary, sorcerer, conjurer, palmist, priest 
—Without ever having been ordained — Rasputin 
more than satisfied his numerous clients. 

Evidence of this is given in a report by the 
Okrcma of April 12th, 1905 : — 

" Crowds assemble at Rasputin's, and people 
wait two or three days before being able to 
approach the ' monk.' Everybody acknow- 
ledges his remarkable prophetic faculties and 
his miraculous gifts. 

" He works miracles whenever it pleases him 
to do so. „ He has been able to take a handful 
of earth and, by simply blowing upon it, turn 
it into a magnificent rose-tree covered with 
flowers. One day, on the Newsky, he met a 
poor woman being wheeled about in a small 
carriage, and who for the past five years had 
lost the use of her legs. He came towards her 
and, after looking at her steadfastly, said in an 
imperious voice : ' Rise, my good woman, and 
walk I ' And the woman rose and walked ! 

M His followers are chiefly among the female 
sex. The writer of this report counted more 
than four hundred women before Gregory 
Rasputin's house on one single afternoon. As 
a rule he only received the young and the pretty 
ones, because he says that the others have less 
sins to be forgiven. He devotes half an hour 
to each of them. When they leave him they 
declare themselves purified, and unanimously 
sing the monk's praises. 

" Rasputin must make a considerable sum 
of money. His secretary never introduces 

anybody without having first received at least 
a hundred roubles. 

He has very powerful connections. He 
visits^ the best families, and is received like a 
grand duke. His place is laid at Countess 
Ignatieff's table every evening." 

Countess Ignatieff's receptions were undoubt- 
edly the most select in Petrograd. A very good 
but terribly superstitious * woman, she received 
the Siberian thief with reverence. Everybody 
was soon in ecstasies over his grotesque plati- 
tudes, his rough manners, and his ' primitive 

".He's a living gospel," exclaimed the aris- 
tocratic ladies of Petrograd. 

Rasputin and Anna Vyronbova. 

One of these women, Madame Vyronbova, 
was to play a notorious part in the inner history 
of Russia. 

Anna Vyronbova was the daughter of M. 
Taneieff, director of the private chancellory of 
the Emperor. She had been lady-in-waiting 
to the Czarina, having married Vyr6nbova, 
a naval lieutenant. This marriage soon ended 
in a divorce, with the Czar's consent, after a 
violent scene at the Winter Palace, when the 
officer struck his wife in presence of witnesses. 
An<l the moment she was free she had resumed 
her post as lady-in-waiting to Alexandra. 

Anna Vyronbova was neither attractive nor 
sympathetic. She was stout and vulgar-looking, 
cunning and without distinction. At Court- 
she was called *' the cook," and never was a 
nickname better deserved. But she managed 
to please the Czarina by her servility and dis- 
cretion, and perhaps by the hatred she bore 
the Dowager Empress, to whom she* attributed 
all her conjugal misfortunes. 

At all events, she was remarkably devoted to 
the Czarina. She had a camp-bed placed in 
the Imperial chamber, and day and night she 
acted the part of the meek and consoling con- 

Anna Vyronbova knew very little of what 
occurred in the city, owing to the seclusion in 
which she lived with the Czarina. These ladies 
spent the day and a portion of the night in 
consulting Egyptian cards and coffee grounds. 
But at last Rasputin's fame reached them. 
The gentleman-in-waiting, Stakevitch, who had 
spent an evening with him at Countess Ignatieff's, 
gave such a glowing description of the monk 
that the Empress could no longer restrain her 

" Anna," she said, " go and see* this new saint, 
and, if you consider him as marvellous as he is 
said to be, bring him to the palace ! " 

Anna Vyronbova therefore went to Ras- 
putin. The wily peasant was expecting her. 

He had no great trouble in satisfying the 
Empress's confidante. This coarse, vulgar person 
was easily influenced. Rasputin, a shrewd 
psychologist, did not hesitate to explain his 
methods to her, without omitting the smallest 
detail. The final doctrine of " sin for salva- 
tion," with which the pseudo-monk always 
ended his consultations whenever he was in 


24 > 


contact with hysterical devotees, put the finishing 

A pact was soon made between these two. 
Gregory threw over Madame Bachmakow and 
adopted Anna Vyronbova as " sister "-in-chief. 
And Anna in return promised to open the gates 
of the Imperial Palace for him and obtain him 
the Empress's favour. 

" But you must remember." said Alexandra's 
companion, " that the Czarina is very puritan 
in her ideas. Your nickname of Rasputin will 
not please her. Henceforth you must call . 
yourself * Novy ' (Innovator), which is better 
suited to the originality of your doctrine." 

The same evening Gregory was presented 
at Court and introduced to the Emperor and 

" Work a miracle for us ! " said the Czar, 
whose childish mind was always interested in 

Meekly Rasputin obeyed the autocrat. 

" Here is a box of matches. " he said. " I 
assure her gracious Majesty Alexandra ' Feo- 
dorovna that she cannot lift it. It weighs 
over a ton." 
„ .Nicholas laughed loudly and incredulously. 
• The monk continued : — 

" What am I saying ? One ton !• Two, 
three tons, and more ! Try ! " 

The Czarina extended her hand towards the 
match-box, which she wished to move. It 
was impossible to lift it ! 

" Try again," said Gregory. 

Alexandra, astounded, cast a frightened 
glance at the smiling monk. As for the Czar, 
this classical experiment of suggestion, known 
to all frequenters of circuses and fairs, appeared 
to him to be supernatural. 

" He is really a chosen of the Lord ! " declared 
Anna Vyronbova, emphatically. 

Rasputin, henceforth the official prophet, 
CQuld at length work for the greater glory of 
Russia and the Romanoffs. 

Rasputin Saves the Czarevitch. 

From 1909 to 19 14 Gregory was frequently 
driven in a closed motor-car to Tsarskoye Selo. 
In order that his visits should pass unnoticed 
he disguised himself as a Cossack officer, and 
hid his piercing eyes beneath thick black glasses. 

What was he doing at the Imperial Palace ? 

Was there more between this wretched being 
and the Czarina than the relations of a spiritual 
director and a penitent sinner ? Is it not simpler 
and nobler to suppose that Alexandra Feodorovna 
could not exist without that mystical intercourse 
where, in her religious fervour, she believed 
herself to be in direct communication with 
Providence ? 

The reader will judge for himself by the 
documents that will be submitted to him. 

Another reason, on the other hand, may 
perhaps explain the inexplicable. 

Young Alexis, the heir-presumptive,'/ ataman" 
of all the Cossacks, was of a very delicate con- 
stitution, and, often ailing, constantly caused 
great anxiety to those around him. We will not 
repeat the melodramatic legends that have 

been current about him. The story of that 
mysterious attempt of which he was a victim, 
while he was staying at Yalka, has never been 
confirmed. Was there not even a question of 
some abominable crime committed by a sailor 
who sought to exterminate the. dynasty of the 
Romanoffs ? 

At all events, Alexis's health was always 
precarious. . Alexandra Feodorovna adored her 
son, and it is very probable that Rasputin, 
aided by Anha Vyronbova, succeeded in making 
her believe 'that he alone could ^save the Czare- 
vitch, owing to a divine spark — that is to say, 
the miraculous power — he possessed. 

Something that occurred at Tsarskoye Selo 
in the month of March, 1913, throws a singular 
light on this question. 

The Czarevitch was in the habit of playing 
of an afternoon in one of the big drawing-rooms 
adjoining his mother's private apartments, 
where an English billiard-table was axonstant 
source of amusement to him. 

One day Gregory Rasputin, who had arrived 
the night before, was in the Czarina's boudoir 
conversing with the Empress and Anna Vyron- 
bova. The conversation turned on warnings 
from above, and the pseudo-monk told the ladies 
how on various occasions . Providence had 
informed him of the dangers that threatened 
those dear to him. 

Suddenly Gregory jumped up. 

" Where is Alexis Nicolaievitch ? " he asked, 
in a voice that trembled with emotion. 

Alexandra, still under the influence of all she 
had heard, murmured : — 

" He is in the blue room, I suppose." 

" Come quickly ! " cried Rasputin, " to be in 
time to save him." 

He started off, followed by the Empress and 
her lady-in-waiting. The young prince was 
quietly making cannons on the green table. 
Rasputin threw himself upon him and pulled 
him backwards. At this precise moment the 
huge chandelier just above the billiard-table 
fell with a crash, burying the table beneath it. 
There is no doubt that without Gregory's 
intervention Alexis Nicolaievitch would have 
been killed. 

It can be imagined what -impression this 
remarkable incident made on Alexandra ! The 
Czar himself was so much affected by it that he 
gave " his son's saviour " a magnificent diamond 
worth thirty thousand roubles. 

Nevertheless a careful inquiry might have 
explained the circumstances. Since the revo- 
lution the servants of Tsarskoye Selo have made 
certain revelations, and one of them has given 
an interesting version of what occurred On that 
eventful day in the " blue room." By Anna 
Vyronbova's orders the young prince s playroom 
had been fitted up with machinery as for a 
pantomime. The iron rod that held the chande- 
lier was attached to a beam in the ceiling. To 
saw through this beam and, by means of an 
accomplice on the roof, to drop the weight at a 
given moment was*, child's play for the wily 
peasant and Anna Vyronbova. 

But tbe officials at Tsaiskoye Selo did not jro 



closely into the matter. The report on this 
occasion concluded as follows: — 

" Wear and tear had caused a; crack in the. 
beam that held the chandelier, and the latter 
suddenly gave way. The necessary repairs 
were made in the course of the day." 

Three Letters from the Czarina to 

Rasputin was absent in Pokrovskoie when 
war broke out in Europe. The Czarina and 
Anna Vyronbova did not forget their holy man. 

These are the words in which the Empress 
wrote to the " Novy " on this occasion ; — 

" / am infinitely happy, my beloved master, to 
be able to inform you that ' Nihy ' has realized the. 
importance of your dear ^presence at Tsarskoye 
Selo. Come back quickly, as my poor heart suffers 
to know you are so far away, and I am lost if I 
cannot hold your hands in mine and find, in your 
eyes, the light of my soul. 

" Do not let me wait an hour, as I have been 
terribly bored from the moment you left me. I 
hope, dearest Gricha, that this time our troubles 
are at an end ; and that we shall never be separ- 
ated again. As for me, I shall thank God if He 
allows me to die with you and gain — in your 
company — the heavenly paradise for which you 
have so delightfully prepared me. 

." I am not the only one wishing for your return. 
Anna is also dying of impatience. Take pity on 
two women who adore you and can no longer live 
without you. 

" Give me, in your thoughts, your most ardent 
blessing in anticipation of being able to 'give it me 
in person, my whole being in touch with yoursr. 
" Your daughter who cherishes you. 


This document, which is published for the 
first time, and which I have tried to translate 
as faithfully as possible, is more like a letter 
from a loving friend than a communication from 
an Empress. 

: The letter that follows, which has been 
published in Russia, is still more curious : — 

" I shall never be able to thank you sufficiently 
for all you have been and all you are to me, my dear 
Gricha. Is there a divine happiness greater than 
mine, when I rest my head on your shoulder and, 
in silence, appreciate the joy of being near you, 
touching you, forgetful of all my troubles ? I 
owe this happiness to you, and you know I am 

" You must forgive me if I am not always 
perfect. It is so difficult to be really a good 
Christian in the true sense of the word. I have 
some very bad habits that are difficult to get rid of. 
You wilt help me, will you not P Remember that 
'you must never leave me, that I adore you, and 
that I have confidence in you alone. , 

" Be kind to Anna. You know she has many 
troubles. Ask Providence to let me see you soon. 
In the meantime, I embrace you, imploring your 
dear blessing. 

" Your daughter, 


And this short note, the copy of which was 
given to me by one of the Czar's former 
Ministers : — 

" / have been awake all night. You were 
absent, and I was dead with grief. Come quickly, 
I want you more than the air I breathe. How can 
you be so hard to torture my poor heart? You 
know I love nobody but you. 

'* Your daughter, 

When we read these documents, which are 
indisputably authentic, must we believe, as it 
has frequently been insinuated in Russia, that 
Rasputin was something more than a spiritual 
director to Alexandra' Feodorovna ? 

It is a question on which every reader must 
form his own opinion. 

Rasputin continued to le&d a brilliant and 
profitable life. His influence at Court had 
never been greater. In the excitement of war 
the rather childish mysticism of the imperial 
couple had increased and the false monk obtained 
whatever he required. 

He was living now somewhat simply in the 
Gorokhovaia, not far from the Winter Palace, 
which allowed him to be at the Empress's orders 
any hour ol the day or night. 

In his leisure moments he became interested 
in business. His study, where the rich present* 
showered upon him by Alexandra and Nicholas 
and the giits of the generous and grateful fol- 
lowers of the new cult were untidily tossed here 
and there, was always crowded with visitors, 
army contractors, shad^ bankers, generals oi 
little standing, all eager for honours and wealth, 
ready to pay dearly fcr the ex-carrier's pro- 

His power at Court was supreme. The 
Czarina even decided that the venerable chief 
should have the spiritual care of the Princesses 
Olga, Tatiana, Anastasia, and of the Czarevitch 
Alexis, upon which their English governess 
immediately resigned, on the ground that their 
Majesties had lost their senses ! 

The Czar, too, was exceptionally amiable to 

" Tell me, my dear fellow/' he said to him on 
one occasion, " what favour would you like to 
ask of me. I swear it shall be granted im- 
mediately t " 

Rasputin was silent for a moment, and then 
answered, gravely : — 

" I should like my friend Barnaby to be made 
Bishop of Tobolsk ! " 

Two days later an official telegram from 
the Holy Synod appointed Barnaby, the ex- 
gendarme, to the episcopacy of the Siberian 

It was about this time that we hear of the 
marvellous history of the pseudo-monk's two 
daughters. Mariska and Zenia were now about 
eighteen and seventeen years old. They were 
both dark, with magnificent black eyes like 
their father's. They carried themselves with a 
certain natural giace rarely seen in peasants 
from Pbkrovskoie, for they had acquired a certain 
UNIYtrol IT Or mlLnlbriN 




polish by coming in contact with the aristo- 
cratic ladies who approached their father for 
l heir spiritual cure- In this way they learned 
to play tennis, sing to their own accompaniment, 
and talk about fashions. 

One of Rasputin's proUgte, a priest of the 
name of Boris and a fervent believer in the 
chief, went about the populous districts ol 
l'ctrograd making certain prophecies that had 
a #reat success. 

One day Boris announced that the Virgin 
Mary had appeared to him and had said : — 

+t It is necessary for the salvation of Russia 
that the daughters of tne man who has been 
given the spark oi divine o m m po te nee t and 
who is already established in the position he 
merits, at the right hand of our little father 
Nicholas and his spouse , should marry. Their 
husbands will become the beloved sons of 
Providence and nothing will be refused unto 

It is not difficult to gather from whom this 
celestial communication came* Rasputin re- 
ceived countless oilers of marriage for his 
daughters. This would have occurred, no 
■ uubt, before the intervention oi the Virgin if 

the existence of these young 
ladies had been known. But 
hitherto Gregory had not 
spoken about his family, 

A general, two members of 
the Duma, several financiers, 
and a professor of the Moscow 
University were among the 
candidates for the honour of 
becoming Rasputin's sons-in- 

But the ex-carrier w&s in 
no hurry. He no doubt 
considered that his daughters 
could aspire higher, 

He lost no time in having 
them come to live with him. 
Anna Vyro\bova undertook 
to introduce them into society, 
and when she took anything 
in hand Rasputin knew from 
his own experience that she 
w f as sure to succeed. 

' They may perhaps marry 
a grand duke ! " she told him. 
And the pseudo-monk 
already pictured himself the 
father -in daw of a Romanoff I 
An anecdote will illustrate 
the -power which had been 
achieved by the village 

One morning he went to 
the G.Q.G. and had himself 
introduced immediately to the 
General in chief, the Grand 
Duke Nicholas Nicolaievitch. 
■ The Emperor's uncle had 
always shown the greatest 
antipathy to the charlatan. 
But he nevertheless received 
" I have come to inform you of a communi- 
cation that the Virgin made to me last night. 
She ordered me to come and tell you thnt she 
wished the war to end as soon as possible, and 
that if you did not do your utmost to bring 
about this result she would curse you and your 

The Grand Duke Nicholas listened to him 
patiently. When he had finished he replied : — 
" And to me, moiyik. the Virgin appeared, 
telling me that a vile impostor would call on me 
to-day and that I should be well advised if I 
had him flogged and kicked out like a dog I " 

Rasputin did not require the hint to be 
repeated, and went away. 

But shortly afterwards the Grand Duke 
Nicholas received the news ol his downfall and 
left for the Caucasus. 

The pseudo-monk had had his revenge 1 

The Downfall, 

There was nothing now to oppose his plans* 
He was the uncontested master of Russia ! 
Nevertheless, the day of reckoning was near I 

Osie night early in tlie winter of 1916 a numbeT 
of people m^rioMlWrciPnny at Content's 



2 43 

Restaurant, The Grand Duke Dimitri Pavlo- 
vitch, son of the Grand Duke Paul ant I first 
cousin, of the Czar, was seated with Prince 
Youj=soupoff at a table, with Staritchin and two 
other guests. 

At another table, a little farther off, were 
Rasputin, Prince Andromikotf, Striapchefi— 
the pseudo-monk's faithful sec ret ary— General 
Yokoutitefa, and two or three minor slars. 

Everybody was laughing and joking and 
talking at the top oi their voices, Rasputin, 
more noisy than usual, was speaking dis- 
paragingly of the whole of Russia. 

" I don't care a button for the grand dukes, 
nor the Ministers, nor the president of the Holy 
Synod, nor all the Aiexiefls and Broussilofis on 
earth ! " he cried ; " and when I do a dirt} 
dancer like Karoli the honour M 

Vera Karoli was a well- known kdlet-dancer 
who had repelled Rasputin s advances. 

On hearing Rasputin's instil Ling reference to 
the lady, with whom lie was acquainted, the 
Grand Duke rose and was about to throw him- 
self on the monk. Luckily for Rasputin, tome 
welt- known people entered at this moment and 
caused a diversion. 

Among them was Pburichkievitch, a member 
of the D u tn n , 
who hated Ras- 
putin. He now 
approached the 
table where 
Rasputin was 
holding forth. 

" Enjoy your- 
self, Gregory, 
have a, good 
time/' he sneered; 
*' it won't l>c for 

Taken by sur- 
prise, the monk 
wished to impress 
the people around 

"Yes, I ant 
having a gnod 
time, and i advice 
you to do the 
same, as I imagine 
that yours will be 
even shorter than 

But Pourichkie- 
vitch continued 
looking the tx- 
carrier straight in 
the face. 

" Don't stint 
yourself in plea- 
sure and orgies , 
you vile innovator! 
Death is near, and 
a man will soon 
be found, to rid 
Russia of your 
hideous presence . H f 


Then the member, taking no fujtuer notice of 
Ids adversary, seated himself at the table close 
by. Ras pu tine eased lau gh ing . He was e vi dent 1 J 1 

He left with his followers. There were now 
only two tables occupied : the Grand Duke's 
and the memlier of the Duma's, 

Then the Prince Youssoupoff, Count of 
Soumarck Els ton, a young fellow a tout twenty 
three, married to Princess Irene, daughter of 
the Grand Duchess Xenia, sister oi Nicholas 1L. 
approached P< 1 u richk i e v i tc h . 

,+ I have listened to you with delight/' he said, 
holding out his hand. " Allow me to thank you 
in all our names for what you said. You ex- 
pressed the wish that a man would soon be iound 
to suppress this repugnant person, With your 
consent I will be that man I " 

The, Grand Duke Dimitri Pavlovitch joined 

"And I will help you to my utmost. We 
have borne with this tnoujik long enough. 
Let us swear, for the dignity and the glory 
of Russia and the empire, to do away with 
Rasputin ! " 

And in the big dining hall of the restaurant, 
where by chance they were now entirely alone, 

the faleful oalh 
was taken. 

The Dentli of 

On December 
Mth, 1916, Kits- 
si an style, atxmt 
ten o'clock on 
Friday night, in 
a pretty little 
house belonging 
u> Prince Ycms- 
soupoff, tli ere 
were three men 
and a woman in 
the drawing-room 
on the first floor 
— the Prince him- 
self, the Grand 
Duke Dimitri Pav- 
lovitch, Pourich- 
k i e vi t c h , and 
KaroU , the dancer, 

The house 
stands in the 
midst o£ a large 
garden, and the 
principal entrance- 
is in the Moskaia. 
But there is a 
special door open- 
ing on the Oftizer- 
skaia, reserved for 
private visits and 
the servants, 
near the little 
pavilion where 
the Youssoupoft 
f.imily dispose oi 
their celebrated 





Crimean wine. Rasputin was to enter by this 
door, to keep an appointment with the Prince, 
*who had introduced himself to the monk as a 
proselyte of his cult. 

Rasputin arrived, and was admitted by Prince 
Youssoupoff, as the servants, he explained, were 
all away. 

Rasputin removed his goloshes in the, hall. 

" Where are you taking 'me ? " he asked his 

w To the dining-room, ^Vc shall be less dis- 
turbed there/' answered the ^Prince, "And I 

with the mystic feeling that is in every Slav, 
Was it not supernatural that a man could absorb 
a poison without effect ? Was he really protected 
by the J^ord ? 

Making some excuse, the Prince left his guest 
and nished up to the drawing-room, " He won't 
die t r> he said, in an anxious whisper. 

*' You are joking/' said one of the conspirators. 
" Take this revolver and use it ; you will see if 
Rasputin is as impervious to bullets as to 
poison ! " 

Youssoupoff took the revolver in his left hand, 


rhoto. SUmh v . 

have had a few bottles of wine brought up to 
help us pass the time/' 

There were three steps leading to the dining 
room on the ground floor* Two bottles of red 
wine were on the table. One, decantercd, con- 
tained a strong dose of poison. Toitssoupoff took 
up one of the bottles — the inoffensive one, of 
course -poured out a glassful, and drank it otf. 
Rasputin took up the poisoned battle and helped 

His host, facing him, looked on pale and 
bicuthless. Had the last moment come for this 
man -who had lived such a lie of infamy? 
Apparently not ! Rasputin continued to drink 
without feeling the slightest inconvenience from 
the poison. 

Youbsoupofl became terrified. lie was seized 

hid it behind his back, went downstairs, opened 
the dining-room door with his right hand, and 
perceived the niuiik in an agitated condition, 
his face covered with perspiration, walking up 
and down the room, groaning and hiccoughing 

The Prince passed the revolver to his tight 
hand, pointed the weapon at the man's heart, 
and fired twice, 

R a sp u t i n f el 1 li ke a st c *ne* Th e Pri nc e hastened 
to inform his friends. The Grand Duke Dimitri 
offered to go home— he lived quite near — to 
fetch his car and take the body to the Neva, 
where the conspirators had arranged to throw 
it into the water. He had already gone, when 
suddenly a heavy, step was heard on the ground 

floor OngmaTTrom 




wi Who is there ? " cried Pouricbkievitch. 

He bent over the banisters. There, in the 
vestibule, he saw a horrible sight. Covered with 
blood, as white as a ghost, the monk had mounted 
the three stairs, had put on his goloshes, and 
managed to open the street door and get into 
the garden, 

Pourithkievitch puUed out his revolver and 
followed, while Youasoupoff took an enormous 

They placed the body in the car and drove at 
full speed toward the Fetrovsky bridge. At two 
o'clock in the morning the car stopped between 
the second and third arch. Rasputin's body was 
dragged out by the legs and shoulders and rested 
against the balustrade. But to their horror they 
found that the monk was still alive. With his 
right hand he grasped the epaulette of one of his 
assailants, and had strength enough to tear it 


club that hung on the wall. Rasputin hurried 
as fast as his strength allowed him towards the 
door that leads to the Qmzcrskaia. livery step he 
ti >ok was marked by drops of blood on the snow. 

He was Hearing the door when Fourichkievitch 
fired three shots, and he fell once more. Yous- 
soupoff struck him on the head with his club. 

Just then the Grand Duke Dimitri Pavlovitch 
returned with his car. 

off. It was a final effort. One last push, and 
the body dashed against the pillar, rebounded, 
fell on a block of ice in the Neva, toppled over, 
and was lost in the tide, 

Justice was done I Rasputin was dead ! 

Such was the end of the illiterate peasant who 
had made himself master of a mighty empire, 
and who shook in his fall one of the most powerful 
thrones in the world, 

by Google 

Original from 



Illustrated by Arthur Garrett. 
No. 4. 


T the forty-sixth meeting of 
the Problem Club, the waiters 
having left the room, Mr. 
Matthews, smiling and rubi- 
cund, took his place as chair- 
man. He finished his glass of 
an old and veritable Cognac, 
lit with care and a cedar-wood spill a cigar 
that can only be obtained tyy the favour of . 
the planter, and read out the terms of the 
Win-and-Lose Problem : — 

u It is required to win an even bet of one 
pound, resulting in a net loss of one pound 
to the winner ; and to lose an even bet of 
one pound resulting in a net gain of one pound 
to the loser. No competitor is to make more 
than two bets." 

" Well, gentlemen," said Mr. Matthews, 
" I'm supposed to make pne or two preliminary 
observations. Now here's a thing that strikes 
me. You may remember that when >we 
tackled the Kiss Problem, our reverend 
friend Mr. Cunliffe said that it revealed the 
artful Leonard as an apostle of morality. 
Of course, the padre took the jack-pot on 
that occasion, and so he may have' been pre- 
judiced, but it looks to me now as if he may 
have been right. See for yourselves. You've 
got to win a bet and lose money by it, and 
then you've got to lose a bet and make money 
by it, and at the end of it you're left just 
where you were when you started. There's 
not much deadly fascination and excitement 
about that — why, it's enough to make you 
lose your taste for g'ambling. 

" Yes, and there's one more point. I 
noticed a good deal of preoccupation at 
dinner to-rnight. Very few of you seemed 
to be putting your heart into the work, 
and I believe I was the only man who had 
the vol-au-vent brought back to him for 

Copyright, 1928! 

eminent classical 
I've not got the 
a mathematician. 

further reference. Great mistake that of 
yours. Some of you tried to work out sums 
on the back of your menus. I detected 
Major Byles, with corrugated brows, in the 
act of making pencil calculations on the table- 
cloth. Yes, there's not a doubt that Leonard 
has given you a worrying time, and some of 
you were wrestling with it right up .to the 
last moment. It won't surprise me if there's 
not a winner among the. whole lot of you* 
However, we'll begin with a likely chance* 
You, Sir Charles, have got a reputation- as 
a learned man ; can I ask the secretary to 
draw a cheque in your favour ? " 

"-I'd be sorry to stop you," said Sir Charles, 
" but I'm afraid I can't claim it. Archae- 
ology don't help with arithmetic. As an 
scholar once observed, 
low cunning that makes 
The only thing I could 
think of was to insure the chances of each 
bet appropriately, but it seemed to me that 
you would regard such insurance as being 
in itself a bet." 

" I certainly should. You don't change 
a thing by changing its name. You are 
limited to the two bets, and I shall not allow 
■ four even if you call two of them insurance. 
Come now, Jimmy, have you profited suffi- 
ciently by your racing experiences to have 
won the prize to-night ? " 

" Profited by my racing experiences ? " 
said the Hon. James Feldane, wearily* " If 
you'd go arid talk to the bank that has 
charge of my overdraft you wouldn't use 
words like those. But backing horses, though 
it's a mug's game, is at any rate easy. There 
are too many complications in Leonard's 
fancy-work for a simple child of Nature like 
myself. I can't engineer a two-cylinder 
gamble with a double back-jump actuated 

^■•"^ Diversity of Michigan 



by the cam-shaft* The only man I know who do you ? * S:j I told him tliat I generally 

couW face it without mental overstrain gave a sovereign. He told me in his coarse 

is my bookmaker. He's a wonder. He'd sort of way that he didn't believe it. That 

give you fifteen different ways of perforating was what I had expected. * All right,' 1 

this problem inside a minute. No juggle said, ' 1*11 bet you a pound that I give two 

with figures can beat him. I don't know if golden sovereigns to the next beggar or 

you'd cair it 
a talent or a 
disease, but 
I've not got 
it. As a com- 
petitor I've 
failed^ but I 
d >n't mind ad~ 
mttting that 
I've made a 
little actual 
money out of 
the competi- 
tion/* Jimmy 
smiled reminis- 

"May we 
liave the de- 
tails ? " asked 
the chairman. 

1( I'd sooner 
you got them 
from Hessel- 

The chair- 
man called 
upon Mr. Hes- 

"I don't 
wonder/ 1 said 
t hat young 
ma a, "that 
Jimmy don't 
like to tell you. 
If I'd stolen 
money from a 
sweeper in St. 
James's Street I shouldn't be proud of it 
myself. The silly ass thinks he's scored 
l me, but as I was out to lose a quid anv~ 
low " 

bl May we have the actual facts?" sug- 
g ^ted the chairman* 

u Certainly, I was thinking about this 
problem and I got a sudden brain-wave, I 
saw how to do the first half— to win a bet 
of a pound that would leave me" one pound 
down when I'd won it* Well, I happened 
to he going up St. James's Street with Jimmy 
later that morning, and by way of leading 
up to it I askfed him what he generally gave 
to a street-beggar, ' Nix/ he said. * What 

Digitized by VjiOOQle 

** i'll take that, and to guard against accident^ 1 i'll be 


sweeper I come 
across.' He 
thought about 
it and then 
said : * I'll take 
that, and to 
guard against 
accidents I'll 
be the next 
beggar. Give 
me a little as- 
sistancej kind 

u Of course, 
in that way lie 
put himself 
on velvet . 
Whether I de- 
cided to win 
my bet or to 
lose it, Jimmy 
had to make 
one sovereign 
out of me. 
Didn't affect 
me at all, for 
according to 
Leonard I'd 
got to win 
my bet and 
"lose a pound 
by it, which I 
did. The only 
person hit was 
the crossing- 
sweeper up the 
street, who 
would otherwise have made two quid. Of 
course, what I ought to have done was to 
ha vi* handed Jimmy over to the police for 
begging — wish I'd thought of it, 

" Well, I negotiated the first half of the 
problem, but the second half beat me. Fm 
inclined to think the sting of the beast is in 
its tail. It takes two people to make a bet, 
I'm not a poet or any sort of imaginative 
chap, but I could think of a bet which for 
a dead certainty it would pay me to lose, I 
couldn't think of anybody, even including 
that rotter Jimmy, who would be fool enough 
to take it. You must try somebody else, 
Mr. Chaif^^ifrom 




u Major Byks ? " the chairman suggested. 

11 As a head-waiter/ 5 said the Major j M I've 
got nothing against Leonard. As a setter of 
problems he's given general satisfaction : but 
this time I should like to back my bill to the 
effect that he has mixed up too much arith- 
metic with the sport* I've spent a month 
on this win-and-lose business, all the time 
with the feeling. that a boy fresh from school 
would work out the whole thing on the back 
of an envelope in ten minutes, and I've done 
nothing. I spent the first fortnight at home, 
and at the end of it I had contracted insomnia, 
headache, and what you might call pardon- 
able irritability. At the end of that- time 
ray wife said that of course she had noticed 
the change, and that I seemed to be doing 
sums all day , and that if we were ruined I 
had better say so and she would face it 

bravely. I reassured her and came to town 
on important business, I used tons of the 
club notepaper for my calculations, put an 
undue strain on the club wastcpaper-baskets, 
quarrelled with two of my best friends, was 
sarcastic in addressing club servants, and 
am expecting a tetter from the committee to 
ask for my resignation, The amazing thing 
is that all the time I have been on the very 
point of getting the solution. In my opinion 
it's the most horribly worrying thing that 
Leonard has ever given us," 

" Well," said the chairman, " artists are 
not generally supposed to be particularly 
strong at arithmetic, but I'll ask Mr. Wil- 
dersley what he's done about it," 

" Can't say I agree with the Major," 
said Wilderslcy. " I call it a jolly easy 
problem, and I claim to be a winner. It 
didn't take me anytime to think of it, either. 
I got a man into my studio, to see alleged 
works of art. s and I said to him that I would 
bet him a pound I would give him two 
pounds. He took me. l You've lost/ I 
said. ' Pay up, and then I'll pay up/ He 
handed me a sovereign and I handed him 
two pounds of potatoes in a paper bag* 
So I'd won a pound in money and 
lost two pounds in potatoes. If you 
win one pound and lose two, that 
makes a net loss of one pound on the 
transaction, and so I'd done the first 
half of the problem. 

1 The chap seemed to be grumbling 
rather.' What's thB 
matter with you ? ' 
I said, ' The green- 
grocer told me that 
they were the kind 
he eats himself, 
and that he could 
guarantee them/ 

I don't want 
the beosl ly pota- 
toes/ he said. * The 
whole thing's a 
dirty swindle/ I 
thought he'd say 
that. So I told him 

by Google 

Original from '- 



that it was no swindle 
and I would be quite 
willing to take the 
same bet myself. He 
jumped at it, but to 
make sure he said 
he would bet me a 
sovereign he would 
give me two pounds. 
1 took him 3 lost , paid 
the sovereign, and 
got hack my two 
pounds of potatoes. 
That finished the 
second half of the 
problem, Fd lost a 
bet of one pound, 
and had made two 
pounds, giving a net 
gain of one pound. 
Naturally, he wanted 
to know what I had 
done it for, and I 
said it was to stop 
him from trying to 
talk about art — the 
chap's a critic." 

Mr, Matthews took 
two minutes and a 

brandy-and-soda before giving his decision 
as follows : — 

" Ingenious, but it won't do. Mr, Wil- 
dersley professes to have subtracted money 
to the value of a sovereign from two pounds 
by weight of potatoes, and to have got a 
result of one pound. Of what did that pound 
consist ? Even after dinner we can't have 
mental confusion of this kind. The claim 
is disallowed/ 1 % 

Mr, Harding Pope^ M.P., made an un- 
interesting confession of failure, and the 
chairman then called upon Mr* Quillian, K.(\, 
who was acting as secretary for the evening, 

Mr, Quillian removed his pince-nez and 
glanced round the. room with that look of 
amiable superiority that some people found 


**I claim to" have won this fairly simple 
competition/' he said, " Of course, it baa a 
psychological as well as an arithmetical side ; 
the bets have to be actually made and not 
merely worked out on paper. 1 made my 
plan one afternoon, and then went over to 
my club to see if I could find my friend 
Blenkinsop. He is generally at the club at 
that hour, and I felt sure that he would accept 
the two bets that I had to propose, 

'* Well, as it happened, B I en kin sop was 
not at the club, hut I found Mr, Fusely- 

V.L W.-1?. 

I don't want the beastly potatoes/ he sajd. t THE WHOLE 
thing's a dirty swindle.' " 

S my the alone in the smaller reading-room* 
I've had to submit to a good deal of chaff 
— not particularly amusing — from Ppsely- 
Smythe, and by way of return it seemed 
appropriate that he should help me to win 
our one hundred and ten pound prize. Also, 
if he will forgive me for saying so, he has just 
the commonplace shrewdness that I required 
in my victim, 

Li After a little preliminary conversation, 
I produced my sovcreign^ease. I told him 
that there was a certain sum of money in 
gold in that case, and that I was willing to 
bet him a sovereign I would make him a 
present of it. He said, as I knew he would, 
that this meant that the sum of money in 
the case was half a sovereign, and that in 
consequence he would lose ten shillings on 
the transaction if he took the bet* 

lt * Yes/ I said, ' there is that possibility, 
but I am willing to protect you against 
it by a second bet- We will agree that the 
loser by the first transaction shall have the 
option to give the other man double what 
he has lost for double the sum now in my 
sovereign-case. And I will bet you a sovereign 
that he will not exercise that option. You 
see how it works out. If the sum in my 
sovereign-case is half a sovereign, as you 
suppose, you will lose ten shillings on the 




first transaction, but you will win a sovereign 
on the second transaction by exercising an 
option to exchange twenty shillings for 
twenty shillings.' 

" Without taking the time to think, he 
accepted both bets. I then opened my 
sovereign -case and showed him that it 
contained two pounds. I gave them to 
him, and as by so doing I had won my 
bet he gave me one of them back again. 
Kindly observe that I had now solved 
the first part of Leonard's problem. I had 
won an even bet of one pound the net result 
of which was that I had lost a pound. Having 
made myself the loser on the first transaction, 
I now had the option to exchange twice my 
loss against twice the sum that had been 
in the sovereign-case — that is, to exchange 
two pounds for four pounds. I had bet 
that the loser would not exercise this option. 
I lost the bet and exercised the option. 
Thus, I lost an even bet of one pound with 
the net result that I made one pound. This 
settles the second half of the problem. I 
await, sir, with confidence, your decision 
in my favour." 

Mr. Matthews referred' once more to the 
terms of the problem. " Yes," he said, 
" it seems to me that you have met all 
Leonard's requirements. Very smart bit of 
work, in my opinion. You take the club 
cheque for one hundred and ten" pounds, 
unless, of course, some claim to share it 
with you is substantiated. Is there any 
such claim ? " 

" Naturally, there's mine/' said Pusely- 
Smythe, with his deceptive air of melancholy, 

" Yours ? How did you do it ? " 

" My learned friend has just been telling 
you. I was going away for a brief and well- 
earned holiday, and I had decided to give 
the competition a miss this time. As I 
was sitting in the club, studying a guide- 
book, in came Quillian looking like a thimble- 
rigger who has just set up his little plush- 
covered table. He offered me his first bet. 
I put it aside. He offered the second, 
and he says I didn't take time to think. 
Thought with me does not take the prolonged 
period of gestation that it does in the case 
of the nobler animals, such as K.C.'s. I thought 
two thoughts. The first was that Quill an 
was out after this competition. The second 
was that when two men gamble together 
what one wins the other loses and vice versa. 
That was enough. I took him. He won the 

first bet but lost a pound by it. It follows 
that I lost the. first bet but won a pound by 
it. Similarly, when he lost the bet but won 
ja pound I won the bet and lost a pound. 
It's all very simple and elementary. I 
hope he's going to make a victim of me 
again soon. This time without any effort 
on my part he has shoved fifty-five pounds 
at me. I've only had to take it. And I 
don't care whether it was benevolence or 
mental short-sightedness — I'm going to thank 
him just the same." - 

" The claim's allowed, of course," said the 
chairman. " The thing that makes me mad 
is that I didn't see it myself until you pointed 
it out. It's obvious. It simply shrieks at 
you. My mind must be going." 

" The menu that you devised for our dinner 
to-night, sir," said Pusely-Smythe, " was 
sufficient proof of the contrary. Those that 
study the recondite must sometimes find the 
obvious out of their focus." 

" Thank you," said Mr, Matthews. " I'll 
learn the last sentence by heart — it'll make 
a ripping excuse next time I do a dam' silly 

Cheques were drawn for Quillian and 
Pusely-Smythe, and the chairman then opened 
the envelope containing the problem that 
Leonard had set for the following month. 
It was entitled " The Handkerchief Problem," 
and on the face of it scarcely supported the 
theory that the ingenious , Leonard was a 
Great Moral Teacher. The Hon. James 
Feldane was reminded that it would be his 
duty to preside on the next occasion and to 
adjudicate on this problem, which was as 
follows : " It is required to steal as many 
handkerchiefs as possible from a member or 
members of the Problem Club. Violence 
may not be used and thefts detected in the 
act will not score. Restitution will be made 
of the stolen handkerchiefs within twenty- 
. four hours of the adjudication, but felonious 
intent is to be presumed in every case." 

" Rotten luck," said Feldane, to his friend, 
Hesseltine\ " I should have enjoyed working 
on this problem. It appeals *to my natural 
instincts. I should probably have won it, 
and in that case might have given one or 
two of them something on account. And 
so this has to be the occasion when I'm shut 
out of the competition and have to act as 

" Yes," said Hesseltine. " Nobody's so 
sure of himself as the non-starter." 

by Google 

Original from 

Pkvfo % Mateiim Aitriithnoi 

ROM the state of glorious* 

proud parenthood to the utter 
loneliness of one without a 
son, have I come in the last 
two years. And the things 
I have seen and the tilings I 
have heard and the things 
I liave personally had to bear during that 
period have been almost too much for the 
strength of any one man, and I firmly believe 
that were it not for the simple fart that 
during my hours of greatest agony and trial 
I have clung to my God and to my strong 
faith in a future life, I should not have been 
able to survive. 

Because I have been before the public for 
thirty-five years, I suppose that people think 
I am an old man. But I am only forty-seven. 
At that age, a man should feel as though he 
were coming into the fullness of his powers, 
as if, for the first time, he was ready to use 
his experience, his brains, and his ability to 
push farther on. to make new conquests, and 
to form new ambitions. 

But to accomplish anything of worth in 
this world, one must have an incentive of 
some sort, and the reason that the future 
seems dreary and desolate and filled with 
blackness for me is because I have lost my 
incentive. When the Germans killed my 
only son, Captain John Lauder, on the zSth 
of December, 1,915, they killed every spark 

Wkat tke War 
Has Done to Me. 


For years Harry Lauder has been gorng up and down 
the world singing his marvellous songs and spinning 
yarns that made us forge t our troubles. Into the life 
of this remarkable man there has come a terrible 
experience — the Joss of his only son in the Great War. 
We thought that you would like Harry Lauder himself 
to tell you the story of whar he has been through, 
what the war means to him — and how he is facing 
ihe future. Here it is — nakedly pathetic, yet curiously 
inspiring. His story is an un for get able human document. 

of ambition, every hope for the future that 
was burning within my breast. It was for 
my boy, my son John, that I had worked, 
travelling thousands and thousands of miles 
around the world, playing almost continu- 
ously, with very little rest between seasons. 

My son John was more to me than any- 
thing else in the wide world. From the day 
he was born until the day of his death, be 
was my one pride and my one joy. He was 
always with us on our travels, no matter 
where we went, and between the matinSe 
and evening performances I would rush back 
from the theatre to the hotel room to watch 
my wife, with jealous eye, tuck him into his 
bedj and to get his good-night kiss and feel 
his warm arms around my neck. That 
nightly process of putting John to bed was 
almost a sacred event. 

And as he grew up, I spent my happiest 
moments with him. He was tremendously 
proud of my ability to cheer people up and 
make them laugh, and he always used to tell 
mc I was doing a great work, and that I 
should feel the equal of the highest peer in 
the land. And he would talk ±0 me of many 
things, confiding in me as man to man, and 
asking my advice about things which few 
sons have the courage to discuss with their 
fathers. We were more like two friends than 
like father and snn< and to have spared his 
life I would gladly have taken his place on 
the battle field. 

When he graduated from Cambridge he 
told me he wanted to be a harrister. Although 
I know he could have made a success of stage 
work, l^y^^^^^^^weet voice, I 



was just as glad when he did not choose to 
follow in my footsteps. 

While he was at Cambridge, my wife and I, 
of course, were travelling most of the time, 
and had to content ourselves with his letters, 
which came very often. And how we would 
pore over those letters, reading them again 
and again until either one of us could have 
recited them by heart. And at night we 
would talk of him, and what he was doing, 
and how he was to be our comfort in our old 

a S e - 
And then, just shortly after he had joined 

us for a few weeks in Australia in the summer 

of 1914, the fire that is burning in the world 

broke loose, and he left us to help quench the 

flame. He had been training for some time 

in the reserve forces, and so the English War 

Office cabled him to our address in Australia. 

There were just two words in the message^ 

and they were : — 

" Mobilize — return." 

And the next day he bade us farewell and 
sailed for England, to return to us for only 
two short visits before God called upon him 
to give his life for his country. And so . . . 
he is gone, gone from our side for ever, as far 
as this life is concerned. 

Where once my life was filled and crammed 
and made joyous by the thought and presence 
of my boy, it is now empty and void. Where 
once I could say to myself that 1 was 
going through the strain of so many 
performances a week, so many weeks 
in the year, because I wished to make my 
boy's future secure, I now can no longer have 
that consolation. Where once my work was 
a joy and a pleasure, because there was some- 
thing to spur me on, it is now practically 
tasteless and flat. And at times black 
despair settles down upon me, and I am unable 
to see what life holds for me in the future. I 
am unable to see any use in going on. 

It was on New Year's Day of 1916 that 
the news came to us of John's death at the 
Front. I was lying in bed at my home in 
London, resting for my performance in the 
theatre that afternoon, when all at once I 
heard a terrible cry from the front of the 
house. I was stunned for a moment, and 
then my head began to swim because of the 
awful fear that clutched at my heart. 

" No, no, no ! " i cried to myself, propping 
myself up in bed. " God couldn't be so cruel. 
He simply couldn't take my boy." 

But when I saw my wife's face, I knew . . . 
She was standing in the doorway, her agony 
reflected in her eyes, holding out the telegram 

to me. Somehow, she crossed to my bed, 
and sobbing her heart out as she gave me the 
printed message, she rested her head against 
mine and cried out her woe and her pain, 
while with eyes blinded with t$ars and a 
heart suddenly struck numb, I read the fateful 
telegram which informed us that Captain 
John Lauder, of the Argyll and Sutherland 
Highlanders, had been killed in action on 
the 28th of December, 191 5. 

" What are we going to do now ? " I cried 
to my wife, after a moment. " What are 
we going to do now ? " 

For days I burned my brain with sickening, 
despairing thoughts, and asked of what use, 
indeed, were all my labours, all my toil during 
all these years. At. times, the raging agony 
at the realization of my loss was almost too 
much. At times, too, during those first days, 
I almost questioned the justice and wisdom 
of a God who would allow such a thing to 

And then, one day, it suddenly came to 
me, as if in a revelation, that I had not made 
use of something in which I had always 
believed. All this time, while I had been 
raging against the cruel fates which had taken 
my son, there had been comfort and peace in 
store for me, and I had not known it. And 
that comfort and peace lay in my belief in 
God, and a future life beyond this earthly 

While the pain and grief had been blinding 
my eyes, God had been waiting patiently for 
the first sharp agony to pass away, and when 
it did He" gently lifted the veil from my eyes 
and showed me the promised land beyond. 
I mean that suddenly I realized that I had 
not seen the last oi John, and that we were 
sure to meet in another world. 

Oh, that I could convey to you the healing 
balm that that thought was to my soul ! I 
would that I could picture to you the joy of 
the thought that I was to see my John again 
at some future date, just as if he had simply 
gone on a long journey, and was waiting for 
his mother and me to come to him. And I 
brought his image before me, and imagined 
him holding out his arms to his mother and 
myself to fold us within his loving embrace 
and in the joy created by that picture I wa« 
able to assuage some of my pain and distres 
and return to an almost normal state of mine 

And that is what every father and mother 
who loses a son must do — have strong, un 
breakable faith in the luture life/in the worl 
beyond, where you will see your son one 
again. Do not give way to grief as I die 
Instead, keep your gaze and your faith firm?" 



2 53 

fixed on the world beyond, and regard your 
boy's absence as though he were but on a 
long journey. By keeping your faith you 
will help to win this war. For if you lose it, 
the war and your own personal self — are lost. 

Do not think that I am bitter that my son 
was called by God to make the supreme 
sacrifice. Killed in any other manner, in 
times of peace, I think my liie wi uld have 
soured, and I should have become embittered 
against the world, hut dying as John Lauder 
did, I can only say that, even with the know- 
ledge of whiit pain his death has cost me, I 
would send him to France again to risk his 
life anew were it pos- 
sible to-day to resur- 
rect him from the 
ground. Because , since 
his death , 1 have been 
to France, and 1 have 
seen the bleeding lily, 
and have come to 
realize more than ever 
that John Lauder 's life 
was not given in vain, 
or uselessly. 

For, unless you have 
been to France, you 
cannot realize what 
is happening to that 
gentle country, T was 
riding in a motor-car 
one day on what 
seemed to be a country 
road. There was 
nothing but torn-up 
fields to be seen, and 
the road itself was 
wrecked with shells and 
filled with rocks and 
bits of wood. Then 
suddenly our car hap- 
pened to hit some ob- 
struction, and gazing 
over the side of the machine I saw what 
seemed to me to be a kerbstone sticking up 
from beneath a pile of rubbish. 

I called an officer's attention to this, and 
glancing carelessly over the side of the ear, 
he said :— 

II Yes, that's about all that is left of the 

:own of X It was here about two 

months ago, but the Huns cleaned out the 
:own and the three thousand inhabitants, 
and they made a damn 1 thorough job of it," 

My blood froze as he spoke, for upon 

gazing around me T could not even visualize 

he outlines of a town. There was not a ruin 

) be 1 seen, not a wrecked house or church in 

harry Lauder's son, 


sight. It was as if the place had never * 
existed , for the people, homesj churches— 
everything — had been completely destroyed 
by shell-fire. That is what the Germans do 
to a town they bombard or pass through 
when on a retreat, 

I spent many days in the trenches^ in the 
rest ramps^ the hospitals., and in the sur- 
rounding towns, and the most definite 
impression I carried away was one concern- 
ing the spiritual atmosphere which surrounds 
the French and English soldiers in France. I 
talked with some of the men for hours at a time 
about their experiences in battle, about their 

thoughts of home, 
about their feeling to- 
ward the enemy j but 
the one thing I came 
away with, above all 
other impressions, was 
the conviction that 
every single one of 
these men, no matter 
what manner of lives 
they had lived before, 
now possesses a calm, 
clear conviction that if 
they fall in the thick 
of the fight, they will 
pass into the life be- 

4( That's why we 
take such chances," 
one man told me 
s i m p I y a "Do you 
think for a moment 
that if we thought 
that life held nothing 
for us than the earthly 
body we possess, we 
would fipht with such 
a confidence and eager- 
ness ? We should not 
be able to, tweause 
we should be doing everything in our 
power to preserve this life of ours. But 
seeing men die as I have seen them, I know 
better than to disbelieve in a future life. 
And because we have no fear of death, every 
one of us flings himself over the hags and on 
to the Huns with a fierce, almost savage joy." 
In the days before the war, young English 
and French men were leading gay, careless 
lives, with hardly a thought for the morrow 
or for such shadowy things as death or a 
future life, ,( Let us live and be merry!" 
was the cry then, but now it is all different. 
Because when men know that at any moment 
a shell ^fl^tf ^jgftt and U0W 



them to shreds, or that an order may come 
during the night for certain regiments to 
make ready to go over the top at dawn, their 
thoughts are mostly on their God and on 
their life to come. And because they are all 
thinking of the same thing, a spiritual silence 
seems to come among them. The men go off 
by themselves and write their wills, to be 
delivered at home in case they do not come 
back, and all through the night you see 
silent, yet calm and peaceful, faces in the, 
dug-outs, and, somehow, the religious at- 
mosphere makes a definite impression upon 
you. So much so that one night an officer 
said to me, very quietly : — 

-" Wh$n I see the men this way, I some- 
times wonder if this war was not brought 
about by God as the only means of making 
the world think of Him and His laws more 
often ! " 

I heard and saw many examples of the 
fiendishness of the Germans, but there are 
only two incidents which I care to tell about 
in this article. And the first one is about 
sixty Highlanders of the gallant Black Watch 

These sixty men were captured by the 
Germans one night. They neither expected 
mercy nor wanted it, but, to their great sur- 
prise, instead of killing them at once the 
Germans harshly ordered them to strip every 
bit of clothes from their bodies. Then they 
left them, all night, shivering and naked, up 
to their waists in mud in one of the trenches. 

Toward morning, an officer aporoached 
the Highlanders and told them that they 
might go back to their own trenches. The- 
men could not believe the words they heard, 
but, overjoyed at their unexpected liberty, 
they started lorth across No Man's Land, 
telling one another that they must have 
misjudged these Germans, after all. 

But they hadn't. For, when the High- 
landers were fifty yards out on No Man's 
Land, they heard the Germans laughing and 
jeering, and the next second a machine gun 
whined viciously and sprayed these sixty High- 
landers, mowing them down instantly, to the 
great enjoyment of the Huns in the trenches. 

Only one man was not killed outright, and 
when he was brought in by an ambulance 
man he told the officers what had happened. 

The Huns do not know of such a word as 
mercy. In one of our hospitals, I found a 
poor fellow who had one eye and half his face 
blown away. When he talked, his mouth 
was so hideous it was difficult to look upon 
him. It was sickening Jo gaze at that poor 

Digitized by V^pGOQU? 

Yet, when I asked him how he had received 
his injuries, he tried to smile as he told me 
the story. 

" It was a fountain-pen that did for me," " 
he said. " I was one of the first to reach a 
trench that the Huns had just vacated, and 
looking down on the floor at the dug out I 
happened to see a fountain-pen. ^Thinking 
to write to my wife and children with it, I 
stuck it in my pocket. A few days Jater, 
having a minute's time, I pulled it out and 
unscrewecTthe cap . . . and when I woke up 
I was as you see me now. It was filled with 
dynamite, that fountain-pen, and was just 
another trick of the Huns to wound and 
cripple our men. But I'm mighty glad, sir, 
that they were fooled in one respect, at least. 
They probably expected to bag half-a-dozen 
of our boys, but all they got . . . was just 

Qippled beyond description, suffering the 
agonies of the damned, his one consoling 
thought was " all they got was just me ! " 

And now I go on, doing my day's work as 
best I can, because I know that I must go on, 
that I cannot stop until my God calls me to 
come to my boy. And I try to be cheerful, 
too ; but when your heart and your thoughts 
are with those boys in France, and specially 
on a lonely grave in No Man's Land where 
lies John Lauder, killed in action one winter 
day while storming the trenches of the Hun, 
it is hard to be cheerful. 

It is so hard, indeed, that I thank my God 
daily that I have my two comforts always 
with me. And those comforts are God and 
my wife. 

My God, of course, has always been with 
me, and has helped me in my hour of trial, 
but so has my wonderful, wonderful wife. . 
Ahd although I have always appreciated her 
qualities and always been happy with her, I 
do not know what would become of me if 
I did not have her now as my companion, as 
my consolation in the dark hours of the night 
when sometimes I just can't help but despair 
at the thought of my John. But with God 
and my wife to help me, I know I shall some- 
how overcome the deadly effects of the great 
blow. And without them I know I would 
have been lost in those first dark, hopeless 

And so, because I have been through 
much, and have suffered as I have never 
suffered before, I want to offer up this prayer 
for every father and mother who sends his or 
her boy to the Front. And that prayer is : — 

" May your boy come back to you alive 
and wcllMgi 




At one period of the war our nets were so effective 
in snaring submarines that the enemy was driven to 
devise methods for dealing with them. I understand 
that he has now fitted his boats with apparatus for 
cutting through these nets ; but whether shears or 
other appliances are used, or whether the working is 

" You are quite right, sir/ 1 said the private • " It 
comes back to me now that you mention the figures." 
Now, what was the exact length of that ladder ? 

A Ydrks in reman married a widow, and they each 
already had children* Ten years later there was a 
pitched battle in which the present family of twelve 
children were violently engaged* The mother came 
rmmizifr to the father, crying : " Come at once ! Your 
children and my children are fighting our children 1" 
As the parents now had each nine children of their 
own, how many were born during those ten years ? 

399.— A REBUS. 
THIS is a little picture- rebus containing a homely 
maxim. It will probably not take the reader long to 
discover it* 


automatic or not, I have not the slightest idea. I 
confess a complete ignorance concerning the matter* 
But while considering it the idea occurs to make a 
little puzzle in" net-cutting. The illustration is sup- 
posed to represent a portion of a long submarine net, 
and the puzzle is to make as few cuts as possible, from 
top to bottom, to divide the net into two parts, and so 
make an opening for a submarine to pass through. 
Where would you make the cuts ? No cuts can be 
made through the knors. Only remember the cuts 
must be made from the top line to the bo t lorn. 

397.— THE LADDER. 

Somewhere in France* a private was sent to a certain 
place to ascertain the length of a ladder that was 
fixed on end against the high wall of a building. He 
unfastened the ladder, pulled it out four yards at the 
bottom, and climbed it, measuring as he went, 
furiosity then led him! for some extraordinary reason, 
to measure the distance that the ladder had descended 
at the top in consequence of its being pulled out at 
the bottom* While doing so he unfortunately lost his 
balance and fell, luckily lauding on a heap of straw* 
He returned considerably shaken, but with no serious 

'" I am \ih\d you did not break your neck," said the 
officer. "But how long is ihe ladder r 1 " 

"The shock has quite driven it out of my mind," 
replied the man j but I do happen to remember 
that the distance the top of the ladder had descended 
was just a fifth of the length of the ladder. 1 * 

" TJiat's all I need," the officer told him, with a 
smile, "since you have said how far you pulled the 
ladder out/' And after making a brief calculation 
he gave the required length* 

e<j by L^OOQlC 

Solutions to Last Month's Puzzles. 

Move the men in the following order * 6 — G, 2 — B, 
'— E* 3-H, 4—1, 3— L. °— K, 4— G, 1— 1, 2— J p 
S—\l, 4—K 1—F, ft- E t 4—1^ 8 C, 7— A, 8— G, 
5-C, 2— B t 1— E, S^I, i^G* 2— J, 7— H, i^-A, 
7-G, a-B, 6^E, 3-H, 8-L, 3-I, 7 -K, 3-C 
6-1 2-J, 5-^H, 3-C, 5 —Q t 2-B, 6-E. S -I, 
6— J- Of course, " 6— G " means that the man 
numbered 6 moves to ihe box G. There are other 
ways in forty -three moves, but I do not think the 
number oi moves can be reduced* 

The: number 94857312 multiplied by 6 gives 
the product 569143872, the nine digits being 
used once* and once only, in each case* 

P A L A T E D 
N E M N E 

E V A N T S 


O N S U R E 

N T E R E R 

E & S E R T 
The verb* 4I palate " : to perceive by the taste, to 
relish, has the authority of Shakespeare. M Not 
palatini the taste of her dishonour " ( (1 Trail us and 
Gfessida/' Act IV*, so. 1 ■ also " Antony and Cleo- 
patra," Act V.* so. 2, seventh line). To " levant " is, 
of course, to abscond dishonourably. 

1. R to Q Kt 7, ch, ; K to B sq. (a). 2, R to Q Kt 5 ; 
1 queens- 3* R to Q B 5, ch. ; Q takes R, and 
White is stalemated, (a) It I Slack refuses to go to 
B sq., the game in dmwn by perpetual check. 


Did She Do Rigk ? 


Illustrated hy Stanley Davis. 

What is the answer of our readers — especially of our lady readers — to the 

question of this title ? * 

TS the end of her I " 

"Can't she get better?" 
" Impossible ! n 
" Will Trefusis stick to 
her ? " 

" How can I tell you ? But 
in his " position — wanting a 
wife who ran play hostess — can you blame 
him if he breaks ! " 

The two men who held this conversation 
sat in large lounge-chairs in a little garden 
on the North Cornwall coast. Both were 
actors : the elder, Turnham Green — who 
owned the bungalow — was famous in two ' 
hemispheres ; the younger — Claude Pelham 
— was perhaps a year or two over thirty- 
one of the most rising jeums premiers of the 
day. They were to play together in a piece 
which was to be produced in October ; and ; 
their parts being interdependent, the elder 
had asked the younger down to stay. Pelham 
— who was perhaps too worldly fully to 
appreciate the country—had come the less 
reluctantly in that there was agreeable 
society at remote Polsurrow which had been 
discovered — and made relatively fashionable 
—by a famous theatrical pair. The bungalow 
— with some other houses — was on the base 
of a famous headland and looked sheer 
across to America ; below it — two hundred 
feet above the Atlantic— ran a wide white 
gravel road, 

On this road the subject of their talk 
was walking at this moment ; a woman of 
great distinction— tall and fair and somewhat 
slender of figure, with a SiddonsTike car- 
riage and face. Two men were with her — 
one was probably seventy, with a massive 
head which seemed immense upon a frail 
and somewhat shrunken body; the other 
was much younger , but in his way no less 
distinguished than his companions— dark, 
with a grave , yet not heavy, expression 
and a beautifully-chiselled nose. 
The woman had her arm within the younger 

by L^OOgle 

man's. She did not- stoop or weigh on him. 
But it was plain to all Polsurrow— who knew 
her story — that. she could not walk alone. 

She was blind; That was why Tumham 
Green, in the lounge-chair before his bunga- 
low, had said that it was " the end of her " ■ 
he meant that the extinguisher had been 
set, finally, on a meteoric career. Kathleen 
Rosewarne was certainly the finest emotional 
actress of her generation, if not of het day. 

She had begun almost as a schoolgirl ; 
her superb physique, her rich voice, her 
dramatic sense, a lucky dibttt^ and, above 
all, that supreme intensity which is genius, 
had thrust her into the front rank of Shakes- 
pearean comedy actresses before she was 
twenty-one. Success, which destroys so 
many, seemed only to increase her qualities ; 
modern dramatists had hurried to create 
parts for her : disdainful of long runs, she 
had relinquished role upon role to under- 
studies, had almndoned comedy, had cm- 
braced tragedy, and at twenty-nine had 
run the gamut of every emotion presentable 
upon the stage. She had worked indefa- 
tigably; so indefatigably that a cynical 
critic had said that she had been so busy 
simulating hate and love and jealousy that 
she had never known any of them, and 
was all fire externally yet Arctic ice within. 
Then, suddenly, on the eve of her thirtieth 
birthday, it was announced that she was 
leaving the boards. 

She had become engaged to Sir Charles 
Trefusis, one of the most brilliant of young 
Englishmen, a man of thirty-seven who, 
after a distinguished career at Balliol, had 
entered politics, had become an Under- 
Secretary, and was certain of a Ministry 
and a seat in the Cabinet when next his 
party held power* They had met quite 
co suall y at M ii rrcn . Superfi dal 1 y, t hey should 
have had little in common. But a kindred 
intensity had allied them, like the fusing 
of white-hot flames. She was to have 
another year's acting. Then she would 



2 57 

abandon it wholly. She could hardly remain 
in the profession and be th? wife to a Minister 
of State. 

Six months had passed, happily. Then had 
come this monster-stroke of Fate. Splendid 
as had been her physique, she must have 
drawn frightfully on her vitality; neuro- 
retinitis was Nature's swift revenge. She 
wore a shade always. To bear light without 
it seemed to madden her. Already she was 
virtually blind. 

She had left London immediately the 
inevitable had been made known to her by 
her uncle and former guardian, Sir Hercules 
Chesson, the great oculist, to whom she had 
flown in her fear. The next thing had been 
to tell her fianci* who was in Italy on a 
special mission and could not compass 
immediate return. He had hurried to Corn- 
wall a few days back and had seen her con- 
dition. And he had heard Sir Hercules's 
dictum : " You may take her to every 
ocuKst in Europe^-she will never see again ! " 

She was to see Continental doctors ; Sir 
Charles Trefusis had been more than insis- 
tent ; but at heart he realized that Sir 
Hercules Chesson was only too terribly 
right. Her appearance showed it — apart 
from the eye-strain ; she had lost her vitality 
and could not — as was apparent — travel 
for some" weeks'. She lay much in the dark- 
ened lounge of the bungalow which she had 
rented and — as at this moment — walked 
twice daily on the broad road above the 

It w^s a tragic and a melancholy passage. 
They spoke little ; Sir Charles's anxiety and 
tender solicitude were very beautiful to see. 
Many people passed them — for this habitual 
pre-Iunch promenade had become known 
to everybody ; and others watched from the 
window of boarding-house or bungalow, 
insatiably curious 40 see the famous actress 
who was going to act no more. There was 
something ghoul-like in the habit. Happily, 
to break it, a pleasant diversion came. 

It came in the shape of a little child 
wheeled by a sister in a go-cart ; a child 
of two or three, with silky yellow locks 
and dark qyebrows and beautiful dark-blue 
eyes. At the sight of the trio, she waved 
her hands and shouted joyously. Kathleen 
Rosewarne lifted her head eagerly, and her 
face lighted up. * 

" Is that Dorothy Brewster ? " she asked. 
" It must be. I know her voice ! " 

" Yes." Her companions spoke together. 
14 It is your little friend ! " 

They took her to the tiny go-cart. The 

Digitized by dOOgle 

great actress said something kindly to the 
elder sister who wheeled it ; then she put 
out her right hand towards this little 
daughter of the local omnibus proprietor, 
who caught a long white finger and held it 
- — happily and tightly — and kept her eyes, 
shyly on the ground. Kathleen Rosewarne 
put out her other hand and patted the child!* 
face with it ; then she stooped down, drew 
the child to her, and, kneeling, kissed her 
ardently, pressing her to her heart. 

And presently she rose again and took 
Sir Charles's arm. 

" You must bring her to tra with me. M 
she said to the .sister, warmly. "I will 
ahrange an afternoon ! " 

She rose and passed on in her walk back 
to her rented bungalow, which was close to 
the one owned by Turnham Green. And 
Claude Pelham addressed the elder actor, 
twisting a little in his chair. 

" The actress still ! " he said, cynically. 
" Even in her blindness she regards the 
Gallery. And — the whole of Polsurrow being 
eager to observe her — a very good house 
she has had ! " 

" I wonder ! " The elder man's voice 
was slow and kind and thoughtful. " Pos- 
sibly you are rights Pelham. The world 
would say .that you are. But, suppose it 
was not the actress but the woman — the 
mother she was born to be ! " 

Kathleen Rosewarne's condition had 
undergone no alteration ; she was lying on 
a low couch in the lounge of her bungalow; 
the room marvellously restful with the deep, 
heavy, yet somehow transparent curtains 
which had been specially hung for her ; * 
cool, too, since the breeze from the Atlantic 
sighed through the open windows and brought 
its marvellous ozone. 

She had been sleeping, seemingly. Sir 
Charles Trefusis sat opposite in a large 
divan-chair. He had a book in his hand, 
but his eyes rested on her frequently with 
a tender and protective air. She sat up 
suddenly. He rose and came to her side. 

" Sleeping, Kathleen ? " he said, gently. 

" No ; thinking, Charles. I want to talk 
to you seriouslv. Please go back to your 
chair !" 

He obeyed reluctantly — as if slightly 
troubled by her manner. She adjusted her, 
shade, put her hands to her hair, to tidy - 
it, hesitated, and began to speak in her 
beautiful, rich, low tones. 

"Charles/'Q^p^pf^,^, "I have been 





wondering. Do you realize that this can't 
go on ? " 

" I know it can't ! Sir Hercules is clever, 
but you must come to Paris and see Lepel- 
letier the "moment you are fit to leare here ! " 

" Oh, I didn't mean that. It is useless . 
— quite useless. What I mean is, that our 
engagement most come to an end I " 

" Come to an end ? " 


" Nonsense ! " 

" It isn't nonsense. It is sad reality. 
You must have a woman who is able to help 
you — not one who will keep you back ! " 

" Kathleen ! " 

He crossed the room swiftly and came 
to her and put his arms round her and held 
her tenderly to his heart. 

" If you can't see me, I can see you I " 
he said. " That is all Jhat matters in~the 
world ! " 

She surrendered herself to his kisses. Then 
she pressed his hands. 

" Charles, you're very dear ! " she an- 
swered, "her voice breaking a little. " But 
you won't be able to love a blind woman 
— long. I sha'n't satisfy you. Other women 
will want you, I should suffer " ' 

" Kathleen, you're talking rubbish. Don't 
you realize that in a man like me the protec- 
tive instinct is most tremendously strong ! " 

" I know it. But I want to be loved, 
not protected." 

" Loved ! " 

He covered her iips with passionate kisses. 
She returned them with equal ardour, then 
shuddered suddenlv and drew herself away. 

" Kathleen," he' said. " What's the mat- 
ter ? Shall I call Sir Hercules ? " 

" No ; it's nothing — only you really love 

" You know I do. My love for you would 
stand against anything; — anvthing in the 

" Would it ! " She shuddered a second 
time and caught her breath a little. " Ah, 
Charles, wait a little — wait just a very little 
while ! " 

The sun went slowly down in a vast ball 
of brightness ; the evening was almost 
w'ndless; the Atlantic looked a lake of 
crimson ; and the windows of the houses 
on the terrace flung the fire of the sun back 
to sea* On the broad road beneath them 
Kathleen Rosewarne walked ^yith Sir Her- 
cules, Sir Charles Trefusis had been called 
back to his rooms by some urgent special 
documents in connection with his Italian 

Digitized by \L*OOfilc 

mission, which had, come by the afternoon 

The pair drew level with his lodgings. 
The doctor said something. Both stopped. 
She turned and waved at the window. And 
all PoLsurrow saw the pleasant and intimate 
picture of a future Prime Minister waving 
a large white handkerchief to his future — 
and sightless — bride. 

The old doctor and the actress resumed 
their walk again ; they approached the 
extremity of the gravel promenade. Just 
before the end, a gap between two posts 
led to a winding path upon the cliffiands 
which j for the most part fell sudden to the 
sea. On the grass, amongst th.e gorse and 
sea-daisies, two children were at play. 

" There's your little friend, Dorothy 
Brewster ! " said Sir Hercules, putting up 
his pince-nez. " She's with her sister — 
at least, she's running from her sister. And 
Oh, my God ! " 

The cry came from him, quick and poig- 
nantly. Without warning — with something 
even of the same swift suddenness that a 
man falls through the trap upon the scaffold 
— the child, who had been eluding her sister, 
disappeared over the cliff. The sister stood 
looking down in horror. Then she ran 
wildly forward in terrible despair. 

" Dorothy's fallen down ! " she cried, 
piteously. " Help ! Help! Quickly! She 
will drop into the sea ! " 

A small stir makes swift excitement at 
remote seaside places ; people from the 
houses, people who had been walking behind 
4 the actress and the oculist, began to run 
towards the girl. But they were outdis- 
tanced. Kathleen Rosewarne — the blind 
woman — whether by instinct or by magic, 
was already on the spot. She reached the cliff- 
top, stood, seemingly, gauging the distance, 
' then stooped down and lowered herself by 
her hands. Those who followed saw her 
twenty feet below them — with Dorothy 
Brewster in her arms. The child had fallen 
sheer for a yard or two, and had then rolled 
downwards to a ledge which hung right 
above the sea. The descent to the ledge 
itself was in no sense difficult for an aduk 
in ordinary health. 

Two men climbed down immediately. 
But there was little need of their 2eal. 
Kathleen Rosewarne began to climb upward, 
passing the child to one of them, who in 
turn passed it to the other, who passed it 
to a woman ahead. The actress reached 
the top, retook the child — almost fiercely — 
and then—green shftde gone, her dress 




muddied with rain and 
sea-water from a rock- 
pool— raised her eyes 
to the doctor, who 
had pressed forward 
through the thronp, 

" Poor little soul ! 
said, breathlessly, 
smiling at him, " She 
not murh hurt - 
frightened. I will 
her into the house 1 " 

She strode ahead, out- 
distancing Sir Hercules^ 
as if she had lost her 
lassitude, as if her vision 
were perfect, as if her 
wonderful vitality had 
returned- The crowd— 
the worst-mannered of it 
— followed her. And in 
the middle of the road, 
Sir Charles Trefusis came 
to meet her, running 
quickly from his rooms. 
He offered to take the 
child. She refused to let 

3 y Google 


Original from 




him. Together — Sir Hercules following — they 
went into her house. 

And, in the crowd which dispersed behind 
them, Claude Pelham, the jeune premier, 
touched Turnham Green's arm. 

" She can see ! " he said. " It's a case 
of shock recovery. If I'm late for dinner, 
you must excuse me ; I'm off to send a 
long wire. I have a young brother in Fleet 
Street. And this ought to do him some good ! " 

An hour had passed. Sir Charles Trefusis sat 
in the lounge of the bungalow, waiting for 
the others to come down. The child was 
upstairs. Kathleen Rosewarne and Sir Her- 
cules were looking after he*; the parents 
had arrived some forty minutes back. And 
still his fiancie lingered. Nothing had been 
explained to him — nothing. He only knew 
that — thanks to some shock, some miracle, 
possibly some beneficent hysteria — the woman 
he loved could see. 

He waited, restlessly, for another twenty 
minutes. Then Sir Hercules appeared. Sir 
Charles jumped up and strode toward him. 
About the child he asked nothing. But 
about Kathleen Rosewarne he asked the 
# one question which mattered in the world. 

" Is it permanent ? Has the shock cured 
her altogether ? Will she have a relapse ? " 

" It is permanent. There will be no 
relapse. But there has been, I must tell 
you, no cure ! " 

" No cure? " 

" No, Trefusis. Because she has never been 
blind ! " 

The statesman stared at the doctor. Was 
the old man fn his dotage, or in some way 
overcome by the accident ? He did not 
understand. Sir Hercules spoke again. He 
seemed nervous a little ; but there was no 
sign of weakness, mental or physical : indeed, 
the frail body seemed to strengthen percep- 
tibly and to gain power and dignity at the 
bidding of the masive old head. 

" Sit down, please," he said, command- 
ingly. " I am too old to talk with you 
either standing or looking up ! " 

Sir Charles took a chair. Sir Hercules 
did likewise. The two men — each first- 
class in his own fashion — sat looking at 
each other across a table. The elder leaned 
back and put the tips of his fingers together. 
The younger leaned forward. His habitual 
calm had partially deserted him, and his 
hands moved nervously upon the table's 
shining top. 

"No," resumed the specialist, slowly. 

" She has never been blind. To put it 
openly and frankly, she deceived you in 
that respect." 

" With your collusion ? M 

"Yes." ' 

There, was a dreadful silence. Sir Charles 
leaned back with closed eyes in his chair, 
which had arms to it. Bayard and preux 
chevalier and the very soul of honour, like 
many men who work hard, he was inclined 
to idealize women, and the shock and sensa- 
tion of falsity struck home to his heart and 
nerves. His hands were trembling Visibly, 
and his voice, when. he began to speak again, 
was icily, colourlessly cold. 

" Before I leave Polsurrow, not to return 
to it, I should like to have an explanation 
from you — and three words with Miss Rose- 

'* You sh^U. But the explanation with me 
comes first ! My niece came to me three 
months ago, when you first went to Italy. 
She had been overworking. She has a 
great imagination, and is very, highly strung. 
You may remember, you had some trivial 
misunderstanding about that time ? ,f 

" Yes, yes ! " 

" Well, she asked me if I thought you 
loved her. I replied in the affirmative. 
She doubted it. She thought she had be- 
spelled you, that the attraction wouldn't 
last. And so she asked me how she could 
test vou." 

41 Test me?" 

" Yes. You are hurt — I can see it ; and 
I do not blame you. But you must over- 
look it. She is not the ordinary woman. 
She has so very much to give ! *' 

There was a pause. It was plain that Sir 
Charles was wounded unspeakably — perhaps 
even beyond healing. Sir Hercules Chesson 
-hastened to pour ointment on the pain. 

" I have known her all her life ; she is 
of the very finest quality, and she wanted 
love, true love, which she had never known 
in reality : she had acted it superbly, out 
of her intense inner consciousness, but she 
had never known what love really is. She 
had so much to give — as I tell you — and she 
knew how terribly she would suffer if she 
felt she were giving it — unreturned. And 
so she came to me. 19 

" And, Sir Hercules, you, a man of honour, 
with a European reputation, you contrived 
this deception ? " 

" I did, to make her happy. I am an 
old man now : my reputation rests upon the 
past ; a solitary * mistake ' would not hurt 
me ; indeed, her eventual ' cure/ if I cared 




for such notoriety j 
could only have 
done me good. 1 
put the idea before 
her — and she made 
the supreme effort, 
has played the 
hardest of parts ! " 

"And her eyes?" 

" A green shade. 
A little discomfort. 
A few drops , night 
and morning, and 
the illusion was 
complete ! " 

"And her physical 
condition — her 
weakness ? " 

11 That was real, 
She is a proud 
woman. The de- 
ception has been 
destroying her. But 
to have been denied 
love after marriage., 
after relinquishing 
her career for you, 
having no longer 
any anchor apart 
from you, that would 
have destroyed her 
more ! " 

44 1 see. And this 
— this deception. 
How long was it 
to — when was it to 
come to an end ? n 

" In a week — no 
later. Sight was to 
come back to her. 
That is, if she felt 
you wanted her in 
spite of all ! " 

There was another 
and long silence. 
Sir Charles walked 

to the window and drew aside one of 
the dark-blue curtains and looked out 
upon the sea. Sir Hercules came slowly to 
his side. 

"Trefusisj" he said, "I am going to 
faring her to you, She is in a very agitated 
state. Be good to hen She is worth being 
good to, She will make you a wife beyond 
rubies. She is of a veritable vestal intensity ; 
one of those rare beings who know no di%ided 
allegiance but . can give their whole lives 
only to a single thing. Be wise and realize 
her value. Don't let pride destroy your 

Digitized by G< 



happiness. She loved you much ; she was 
anxious much. She is a woman — in a 
gentleman's hands t n 

Sir Hercules turned and crossed the room 
slowly and went out through the half-open 
door. Sit Charles Trefusis remained alone for 
some minutes, standing at the window from 
which he had drawn the curtain back. Then, 
suddenly and quickly, he drew all the other 
curtains. He resumed his position and 
continued to stand, facing the Atlantic, 
with head bowed a little and hands clasped 
behind his back, There came the sound of 
Original from 




But it was the woman who— pale, agitated, 
run trolling herself with infinite difficulty— 
hroke the silence first. 
c< Sir Hercules lias told vou ? " 
" Yes," 

" Everything ? " 
" Everything! 3 ' 
' You know I have 
deceived you, played 
with you, and doubted 
you. What are 
you going t o ■ 
say ? I forgive 
you if you don't 
want me* I can't 
— who could ? — 
blame you ! But, 


footsteps. Someone was descending the 

He turned immediately. Almost as he 
did so Kathleen Rosewame was in the room* 

They faced each other in silence— this 
man and woman, each of the highest type 
of intelligence and capacity for devotion, 
who hadj as it were, fallen into each other's 
arms at their first meeting in Switzerland, 
early in the year, And Sir Charles, who 
when she had entered had not known what 
he was going to say to her, knew immediately 

tell me if I have killed your affection 
— get it over quickly— if we are to make an 
end ! n 

" Make an end ? " 

Sir Charles Trefusis took three steps 
forward and crushed her close to him passion- 
ately and pressed his face to hers. 

11 I love you, love you, love you I " he 
whispered, " Love feeds on love. You 
haven't kitted my affection ; you have only 
increased it and cemented it. I love you all 
the more for your -ha vine wanted me to love 
you as I dol Wr| 3 |n 



[We shall be glad to receive Contributions to this secitrm, and id pay {or such us are accepted,] 

•"T^HESE, sturdy Highlanders are enjoying a frune 
iX on a gigantic draught -board erected in the 
grounds of a convalescent . home ** somewhere in 
Scotland." Slots are cut in the heavy iron M pieces/* 

into which players insert iron rods to move them to 
the various squares. Spectators readily follow i he 
ipame from a distance, and it is odd to see. a player 
u.i Ik into the centre of the * arena 'Mo move ft '* man/' 
Tlie ,b board," made of cement, is one of the largest in 
the world- — Mr. 1\ Millar, Cremona, Jimdlau, Argyll. 

* T"MJERE are millions of watches which have the 
± hours shown in Romiin ligures with the except ioei 
rt the four* which is written with four vertical 
-i rakes — till — instead of IV; but there are very 
few |)eople who have heard the explanation of this. 
The first clock like ours is supposed t to have been 
made in 1364 by Henri de Vick for Charles V, ui 

France, Hie clock was ordered by the King for th? 
tower of his palace, and when de Vick had finished it 
lit took it to the King, who, wanting to find some fault 
with it, told Vick that four o^clock should be written 
with four vertical strokes, " I am afraid your Majesty 
is wrong*" replied, Vick. " I am never wrong/ 1 said 
ihe King* "Take it away, and don't bring it back 
until you have corrected it/.' Vick obeyed, and from 
that day the .flint elms made has been copied by 
clockmakers*— Mr, A. Simpson, Stirling Lodge r ui, 
- Richmond Park Road, Bournemouth. 


OUTSIDE, the pretty little village of Sharon, 
Ontario, Canada, stands this strange building, 
in the midst of a broad hay field. Over half a century 
iujo the builder, one David Wii'ison, came to Canada 
from the United States and founded a brotherhood 
knoun as th« ,; Giildren of Peace," basing his teach - 
inq on the love of God to man. and of man to man, 
Hi; followers built this temple, which stands to-day, 
fon T-square, secure without a nail, wooden pegs holding 
it together. Each midsummer while he lived they 
used to gather from all parts of the surrounding 
country and hold a feast. The men and women. 

dressed all alike in white linen, and carrying garlands 
*if flowers, led by the ark, and with a silver band at 
their head f entered the temple in procession* There 
are said to be things mysterious and haunting about 
the curious building, which has been untenanted fur 
many years, — Mr. J as, Skelton, 70, Lawton Avenu , 
Toronto } Canada, 

Solution of Last Mont V 3 Bridge 

Trick 1.— A leads knave of clubs ; Y must covet ; 
trumped by B with the 4* 

Trick a — B leads the ace of diamonds, tntniftd • v 
A titth the queen I * 

TRICK 3.— A leads trump, won by B, 

Trick .+♦ — B leads winning trump; A discards 3 . 1 

Trick 5.— B leads small spade, won by A fti :ii 
the ace. 

Thicks 6 and 7. — A makes 9 of clubs, and B makes 
knave of spades. 

* If he trumps with the 7 and leads the queen, V 
refmes to Qrfgjfliyf f|£fljlution fails. 




Chats about Children, 


Published monthly by GEOftQE NEWNES. Ltd t 8 to n, 5outnampt4>u flrett, SftMtid t London, England. , 


^ *— i mm. — — -; — — ~;>™ "■■vr " i iaiiaimni ■"V am- ■■ jm-'^tm' ■ •■ r ■ ■ i 






Note how Wood-Milne 
Rubber Heels save the shape 
of boots and shoes and keep 
the heels at an even level 
They double the life of the 
leather and keep the footwear 
smart and neat all the time* 

Wear Wood Milne Rubber 
Heels yourself* and know how 
much they save your nerves, 
what comfort they give, how 
light and buoyant they make 
your step. There are Wood- 
Milne Rubber Heels for every 
kind of boot and shoe- They 
are just the very thing for you. 

Wood - Milne Heels made of 
the most resilient and durable 
rubber in every size and style. 

Let your Boatman fix a 
trial pair for you to-day. 

Ask for the 
" Special n Heel 

• — ■?— 

by Google 

Original from 

(""rw^nL'' Original from 



(5« £ag* 267.) 

by Google 

Original from 


Vol. 55- 

APRIL, 1918. 

No. 328. 


An Unromantic Episode* 


Illustrated ty Stanley Davis. 

N hour ago they had, both emerged 
miserably from the water, be- 
draggled out of human sem- 
blance. As the eight-thirty boat 
sidled up to the landing-stage, 
the regular morning passengers, 
made oblivious by long habit 
to every sight and sound of 
"' going, to business,", had been startled into 
unwonted consciousness of their surroundings 
by the sound of two loud splashes in quick suc- 
cession. With an unaccustomed thrill they 
had seen two people floundering desperately 
in the water ; one, a young woman whom many ■ 
of them recognized as a regular passenger by 
that boat, the other a young man who had 
evidently leapt to her rescue. 

He must have acted with the greatest promp- 
titude and the most chivalrous of intentions, 
for he had not even stayed to shed his coat. 
But chivalrous intention was as far as he had 
got. They struggled perilously, and were both 
like to have been drowned or horribly crushed 
between the boat and the landing-stage had 
not some man of action in the crowd thrust out 
a boat-hook and towed them in. 

Thereupon, while the squire of dames shivered 
(for it was an autumn morning) and looked as 
pitiable as a- brine-soaked human being must 
always look, she thwarted all the legitimate 
expectations of the onlookers. " She nor 
moaned nor uttered cry." Instead, she treated 
the whole proceedings with levity — nay, with 
gusto. She was distinctly heard to make /nention 
to her rescuer of " a lark." He, with his teeth 
chattering uncontrollably and miserably aware 
of garments clinging icily to his knees, assented 
with what grace his liquefaction would permit ; 
but in the face of her undisguised and perverse 
enjoyment, his attempt to assume a calm, 
' masculine protectorship was a poor performance. 
Hopes of artificial respiration and first aid and 
ambulances withered foolishly in the breasts 
of all beholders. 

" But wet clothes are wet clothes, and presently 

the saturated pair were both acutely aware 

of the necessity of dry raiment and a fire, 

somewhere and at once, On her suggesting this, 

Vol. W.— 17. 

he agreed with an almost savage emphasis : 
observing, with a saturnine attempt at a smile, 
that he would find a fire somewhere if he had 
to go to the very hottest place imaginable for it. 

" Then let's find a pub," she answered, with 
decision. " That's the nearest thing to what 
you mean, 1 suppose ? " They both laughed, 
and at once summed each other upas" good 
sorts." As they trundled along in a cab, 
they became aware of a delicious, irrational 
intimacy which seemed to have existed for ever. 

And when, at the Blue Anchor tavern 
(fortunately deserted at that hour of the morn- 
ing), they found their fire and some rough- 
and-ready dry clothes, the intimacy became 
positively intoxicating, and their spirits rose 
high. She was taken in hand by the sympa- 
thetic landlady, and a makeshift costume 
somehow vamped up ; while he purchased a 
practicable, if incongruous, outfit at a waterside 
all-sorts shop, and, having the ramshackle 
old parlour of the place at his disposal, proceeded 
to array himself in a semi-nautical garb which 
caused him infinite merriment in the process 
of its fitting together. 

Trousers of a coarse, rasping serge, a thick 
flannel shirt of brilliant hue, and a navy-blue 
seaman's jersey made his costume. He sur- 
veyed the effect in the remains of a mirror 
over the mantel, and hugged himself with 
the sense of a jolly escapade. While he was 
thus occupied, she burst into the room and 
stood displaying herself. 

" There I " she cried. " Not so bad, for 
an impromptu, is it ? " 

For the first time they saw each other as* 
two recognizable human beings. She had 
found somewhere a skirt of decent black-and- 
white check and a plain white blouse which 
set off her dark complexion and copious hair 
with an effect of pleasing spontaneity. He 
viewed her with undisguised admiration, and 
she neither flinched nor simpered before his 
appraisement. He guessed her age as twenty- 
five — a woman, yet mistress of herself with 
a winning manner of womanly girlishness. He 
w r as not conscious that she was " pretty," 
for it was vivacity, abundant maiden vitality — 




the healthiest thing in Nature — which he read 
chiefly in her face and her trimly-built figure. 
She was a girl, he felt, whom one knew well, 
or not at all ; and, with a sense of elation, 
he told himself that he did know her well. 
In his elation was something like a pang, 
bidding him urgently to know her better. 

She saw a young man about her own age, 
whose rough garb could not conceal the grace 
and courtesy and friendliness of his bearing. 
She saw honesty and breeding in his steady 
eyes, and humour, half-quizzical, half-sympa- 
thetic, in the play of his lips. They knew in an 
instant that something more than accident 
made them friends. They knew that both 
politeness and awkwardness were impossible 
between them. They smiled to each other 
in token of their understanding. 

" Very clever of you," he said, judiciously. 
" But I'll pay you compliments after you've 
had some rum." He pointed to a kettle singing 
on the hob, and an array of glasses, sugar, 
lemon, and bottle on the table. 

" Rum ! Me ! " she laughed. " Oh, isn't 
it too delicious for words I " 

" I- don't know," he answered, dubiously, 
" I've never tried it. But it's the thing to 
drink after being rescued from a watery grave ; 
so — here goes ! " 

Together they brewed the decoction, and, 
with streaming eyes and tortured throats, 
solemnly pledged each other in gulps of grog. 
They set down their glasses with the pride of 
a brave deed accomplished. 

She saw his woebegone coat hapging on the 
back of a chair. 

" Oh, dear ! " she said; " your suit ! " 
" Yes," he answered, ruefully. " And I 
had it dry-cleaned only the other day. Dry- 
cleaned ! What a mockery ! " 
" All my fault," she sighed. 
" Now, please, please ! " he said, depre- 
catingly. " The point is, are you all safe and 
sound ? " 

" Perfectly — thanks to you." 
" No thanks to me whatever." 
" But it is, it is ! " She paused and, sitting 
on the edge of the table, became absorbed in 
the toes of her shoes. " It's awfully hard to 
thank people," she said, hesitatingly; "I 
don't even know how to begin." 

." Then don't begin," he said, promptly, 
" and you'll never have to continue." 

" Oh," she cried, looking up at him swiftly, 
and away again, as if afraid of her own vehe- 
mence, " but I do thank you and I can't tell you 
how much I admire you ! You behaved like 

a splendid, brave, strong man, and I " 

He cut her short. " It sounds delightful, 
and I wish it were true. But. unfortunately, 
it isn't. To begin with, I didn't save your 
life ; if it hadn't been for that fellow with the 
boat-hook we should both be with Davy Jones 
by now. I'm such a rotten swimmer." 

" Why ? " she said, regarding his athletic 
frame. " Don't you like it ? " 

"I'm very fond of it, but lately — well, I 
suppose I've got rather out of practice." He 

.Digitized by GoOQlo 

seemed to dislike the subject, and changed it 
abruptly. " You will admit it was the fellow 
with the boat-hook who really saved us ? " 
he said. 

" In a way," she granted, reluctantly ; " but 
still — I had you to cling to ! " 

" Yes," he said, with a smile,' " that's where 
I really do shine/' She dropped her eye*. 
" In the second place," he continued, lightly, 
" if I had saved you, there would have been 
nothing brave or creditable in it* It was just 
an ordinary moral crisis." 

" What do you mean by a moral crisis"'? " 

" The choice between being a hero or a cad." 

" Oh I " she protested; " that's cynical ! " 

" You mean it's true ? " 

" Cynicism is never true, is it ? " 

" No," he agreed, " but when people don't 
like the truth, they often try to dodge it by 
calling it cynicism. Honestly, now, if I hadn't 
Wanted or tried to save you, I should have 
been a cad, shouldn't I ? " 

" You wouldn't have been as brave a man 
as you are." 

" Neat I " he said, with a laugh, " and much 
kinder than I deserve ! Put it charitably if 
you like ; but you .know I'm right. It's the 
same thing in fighting, you know. If you're 
ordered to attack, and do the only thing it's, 
possible to do, you're ' one of our brave boys.' 
If you don't, you're ' a dirty dog.' Quaint, 
isn't it ? " 

" You've been to France, then ? " she asked, 
with increased interest ; and added, apolo- 
getically, " But of course you have I " 

" Yes," he answered, " most of us youngsters 
get our education over there nowadays." 

" Are you on leave ? " 

" Rather indefinitely, at present," he replied ; 
and again seemed to change the subject rather 
brusquely. " But tell me, how did you manage 
to get into the water ? " 

" I suppose," she said, hesitatingly, again 
intent upon her dangling toes, " my heel must 
have caught in one of those brass things on 
the deck. Anyhow, just as I was stepping 
off — well, there I was ! " 

" There you certainly were 1 " 

11 And so were you ! You didn't lose^ any 
time, did you ? I suppose the moment you 
heard the splash, you just dived in ? " 

" No," he corrected, slowly ; " I found iny&eU 
in the water." 

" Oh, don't quibble ! " 

*' I'm not quibbling. I simply found my sell 
in the water." 

"Very well/* she said, impatiently, "\ou 
didn't jump in at all — you didn't even want 
to save my life." She positively pouted. 

" Oh, but I did, I did ! Only— no I " he 
said, firmly ; "I simply won'* take credit 
for a thing I couldn't help doing." 

" Your credit," she replied, with equal 
firmness, " is that you couldn't help doing it." 

" If there was any pluck shown," he insisted. 
" it was by you." 

"By me!" she said, scornfully. •' Oh„ 
ves, fine rjluck ! " 

Original from 



" Why, you didn't even faint ! " 

" Why should I ? We weren't in the water 
five minutes." 

" But, surely," he protested, " every right- 
minded woman swoons after being rescued 
from a watery grave ? " ' 

" Pooh ! You must take me for a school- 
girl ! " . 

" I've always found that a woman likes to be 
taken for a schoolgirl, and a schoolgirl likes to 
be taken for a woman." 

She eyed his quizzical smile with disapproval. 
" I suppose," she said, " like ail men, you 
think you know a great deal about women. 
Let me tell you you don't know me if you think 
I'm the swooning sort. I'm used to looking N 
after myself." * 

" That," he said, sincerely, " must be a 
very fascinating occupation." 

He realized as soon as he had said it that a 
compliment was out of tune, and was grateful 
to her for ignoring it. 

" I don't know," $Jhe answered, " that it's 
altogether fascinating making your living." 

" You make your living ? " he cried. 

" I've done so for seven years," she said, 

" How jolly sporting of you 1 " he cried. 
" I wish I could say the same. I suppose 
it's a sort of — er — hobby ? " 

" No. An occupation. I prefer it." 

" Oh, come," he said, sceptically, " you 
can't expect me to believe that ! " 

Every woman," she answered, haughtily, 
" doesn't want to be dependent on her parents 
all her life." 

" Why not ? She has to be dependent on 

She sprang from the table and set herself 
squarely in front of him. 

" That's what you all say ! Now, why ? " 
she demanded, fiercely. " Just tell me why ? " 

The charming challenge in her attitude 
stirred him. He felt a malicious glee in leading 
her on. " .Because," he said, deliberately, " well, 
because she depends. It's the way she's born." 

" It's not the way / was born," she retorted. 
" My parents christened me Leslie. How can 
you expect a woman named Leslie to depend 
on anybody ? *' 

" What's in a name ? " 

" A character," she answered, promptly. 

" Sometimes, sometimes," he admitted. " Do 
you find it fun making your living ? " 

" It's not meant to be fun. But it's good 
for one," 

" How dull I"' 

" Yes, that's it — dull ! " she cried, moving 
about restlessly. " One does so long for some- 
thing to break the monotony ! I feel sometimes 
— well, have you ever sat in a theatre behind a 
bald head ? " 

" I have seldom sat behind anything else in 
a theatre. Especially musical comedy." 

" Well; after you've seen it shining there in 
front of you for an hour or two, don't you long 
to slap it with your programme, just to see 
what the owner would do ? " 


" Yes," he assented, " bald heads do have 
that morbid fascination. It's like the peculiar 
feeling one sometimes has in church— — " 

" That you want to get up and whistle, or 
throw a hymn-book at the clergyman — just 
to see what would happen ? " 

" Yes ! How, well we agree ! I'm so glad 
somebody else feels like that." 

" That's how one feels going to business 
every morning," she explained. " Always the 
* same thing at the same time in the same way ! 
If you knew how sick I am of that old eight- 
thirty boat ! I just long for it to do something 
unexpected — spring a leak, arrive at the wrong 
quay, anything ! — and I know it never will. I 
feel sometimes as if I'd like to jump overboard 
— just for the fun of the x thing, just to break the 
monotony ! Really," she went on, enthusias- 
tically, " it was perfectly delicious to find myself 
floundering this morning, instead of stepping 
ashore, as I'd done so many times before 1 " 

He eyed her critically. " An adventure ? " 
he queried. 

" Yes 1 Absurdly commonplace, I suppose 
— but a real adventure all the same ! " 

" You're more of a philosopher than you 
know," he said, with his grave air. " Life is 
either danger and adventure, or safety and 

" Give me the adventure," she said, wist- 

" You've enjoyed it ? " 

" Tremendously ! Don't you think it's fun 
—our being here and all that ? It's so absurd 
and unusual and improper — isn't it ? " 

Her fr&nk and innocent zest was electric. 
He threw back his head and laughed. " It's 
immense ! " he cried. " And it's too delightful 
to hear you talk of looking after yourself ! Shall 
I tell you what you've enjoyed most in your 
adventure ? " 

" What ? " she asked, suspiciously. 

" Why, just being saved I " 

" What do you mean ? " Her suspicion 
became almost alarm. 

" Honestly," he asked, meeting her frown 
without dismay, " wasn't it jolly to feel that 
somebody had suddenly turned up to take 
charge of you, accept all responsibility for you ? 
That you had," his voice dropped to a murmur, 
" something to cling to ? " 

Her effort to outstare him failed. She turned 
away abruptly. M Perhaps," she said, curtly. 
He was wise enough not to press his advantage. 
She stood for a moment pensive, and then said, 
slowly : " Yes, perhaps you're right. Perhaps 
you are a bit of a man, and I am a bit of a woman." 

" It's a lucky coincidence, isn't it ? " he said. 

Her tone changed. " Don't natter yourself I " 
she said. " It will be different to-morrow. 
I'll be Miss Avory, and you'll be Mr. Whatever- 

She seemed to be breaking a spell. " Why 
this pessimism ? " he protested. 

" Adventures end, and convention goes on. 
We shall probably never see each other again." 

" Oh, come, need we be morbid ? " he remon- 

Original f-rom 



*' Or, if we do," she persisted, " it will he in 
somebody's drawing-room, and we should have 
to be introduced and talk about the weather. 
And from that moment we should be strangers, 
Oh/' she cried, angrily, " I hate convention t " 

f ' So do I/ r he agreed, fervently ; " and it's 
positively indecent to think about it at the 
present moment," 

Hut he knew she had spoken truth, and her 
word cast a pall on their pleasant illusion. An 
episode, they both felt, was closing. 

" Never mind/" she said* " For the present 
I'm just a woman and you're just a man, and 
— thank you." 

Suddenly he clenched his fist, and spoke with 

young man with a whirlwind of apology* " My 
dear sir 1 " he wheezed, ** I've been looking 
for yon everywhere ! " 

The young man stared. M That's very kind 
of you," he replied, coolly, " but I wonder 
why ? » 

" I want to apologize > J J m the fellow who 
was standing next to you on the landing-stage," 

" Its odd," murmured the young man i " that 
I didn't notice it.*' 

Acid J didn't notice you!" The man's 
affability passed to positive jocularity, ' That's 
just the trouble I " 

1 Trouble ? I don't quite understand/* 

The stout man made a circumferential gesture. 



a bitterness which startled her. " God t " 
he cried, " I wish 1 were more of a man \ " 

" Why ? " she a*ked p taken aback. "Aren't 
you satisfied ? Aren't you glad you saved my 
life ? " 

■tie made an impulsive movement towards 
her. " Do you need telling/' he said, " that I 
would rather have done that than anything else 
I have ever done in my lift? ? " 

The sudden earnestness of his tone took her 
off her guard. She shrank from him, Embar- 
rassment sprang up between them ; but the 
was saved by the violent entry oi a corpulent . 
and asthmatic stranger, who descended on the 


* You see my affliction, sir r " he said, apologeti- 
cally. ** Been like it since a boy. Noth ; n£ 
does it any good — air, exercise. Sandow before 
breakfast ; not a bit of good \ And the 

consequence is, whichever way I turn, it br nps 
Bo met hi ng \ " 

A lipht broke on the young man* "Is * ! " 
he said, ' Y-ul ucm- standing next tc me 
and " 

" I turned round to look at the clock — ind, 
of course, it bumped something ! Befoi ; I 

knew where I was, there you were in the wate 
H ' So that's what it was ! " reflected the r 
*' I felt something strike me rather forcibly 

Original from 





" I'm extremely sorry, sir," said the large 
one, " deuced upset, I assure you. You had 
slipped away before I had time to explain matters, 
and I've been looking for you ever since. Now 
if there's anything I can do to make up for 
my clumsiness — hot-water bottles, cab, tele- 
gram " 

He was assured that there was nothing he 
could do except to shut the door after him as he 
went out ; and after further profuse and ster- 
torous apologies, he decided he had " better 
be toddling " — and toddled. 

She had stood quite still during this interlude, 
her eyes fixed in a fascinated stare on her rescuer. 
He avoided her gaze. Suddenly she spoke in 
a new, hard voice : — " 

" Tell me quickly, please," she said, " that 
that horrible fat man is mad." 

He hesitated a moment, then said, still 
avoiding her eyes : " No, he did bump me in. 
At least, something did." 

" You didn't try to save my life ? " 

" I told you I wasn't a hero." 

" You didn't jump into the water at all ? " 

" I told you I found myself in the water." . 

She advanced a few paces towards him, 
raised her hand as if for some bitter denuncia- 
tion, then dropped it, and burst into tears. 

" Spoiled ! Ruined i " she wept. " The only 
adventure I've ever had — and I'm ashamed of 
it I Oh, how could you, how could you ? " 

"I'm awfully sorry," he murmured. 

" At least tell me," she pleaded, with a sudden 
spasm of hope, " that you were going to jump 

" No ! ** She shrank back from him with a 
gasp. "No! I couldn't. It would have been 
no use. I can't swim." 

" Why, you told me just now that you were 
very fond of it ! " she said, indignantly. 

" Yes, but not lately." His embarrassment 
increased. " As a matter of fact ; " he stammered, 
" there's something wrong with my leg." 

" You walk perfectly well ! " 

" I know, but I can't depend on it." 

He was the picture of guilty confusion. She 
spoke with a scorn that made him wince. " Why 
don't you tell me you had a headache ? " she 
said. " Why, I'm a woman, and I'd jump into 
the water to save a dog from drowning ! And 
you can't; because there's something wrong with 
your leg ! And I called you a brave man ! 
No, you're just a rniserable c " ' 

" Don't say it I " he commanded her, with 
a sharpness which arrested her indignation in 
spite of herself. He went on in stammering 
tones : " I don't know why one should be so 
absurdly sensitive about it, but one is, and one 
can't help it. There is something wrong with 
my leg. If you must know," he frowned and 
blushed like a boy, " it's not a leg at all." 

" What do you mean ? " 

" It's a dud," he said, shortly. " Fritz has 
got the real one." 

Her expression changed from accusation to 
thq horror of remorse. She turned from him 
with a despairing gesture and stood abashed. 

He hated himself for bringing humiliation 

Digitized by LiGOglC 

on her, and sought to bring back their cheerful 
camaraderie. "It's a jolly good leg," he said, 
lightly. " It cost a dickens of a lot. And 
it will do all sorts of tricks. But it isn't 

She came to him slowly, not daring to meet 
his eyes. "Oh, forgive me, forgive me!" 
she cried, with something very near a sob. "Id 
rather have died than hurt you like that ! " 

" No, no 1 " he reassured her, distressed for 
her distress. " You didn't hurt me. It was 
my own fault for being so ridiculously sensitive. 
But I'll tell you what does hurt," he added, in 
a low voice, looking away from her. " To stand 
on the brink and not be able to plunge in — 
that hurts a bit sometimes." Then he smiled 
cheerfully, banishing ugly things. " Rotten old 
war, isn't it ? " he asked. 

" You did want to plunge in, didn't you ? " 
she asked, softly. 

" Oh, my dear, like— like—" 

" Like the deuce," she prompted him, nodding 
her head solemnly ; and added, looking him well 
and truly in the eyes : "I'm ten times gladder 
now that I had something to cling to." 

And his eyes looked well and truly back at 
hers ; and " Cling again ! " he would have 
said, but another interruption reft his golden 
moment from him. A slim, thin-lipped, middle- 
aged woman, with a " piece of her mind " 
visibly trembling " for expression, entered un- 
announced and planted herself in front of the 
girl, ignoring the presence of her companion. 

" So there you are, my lady," she said, with 
unemotional but unmistakable accusation ; " and 
a nice chase I've had to find you ! " 

" Mother ! " said the girl, in consternation. 
" How did you know ? " 

" Somebody picked up a card with your 
address on it, and telegraphed there'd been an 
accident. I knew what was the matter. New 
get your things and come home. I've got a 
cab outside. Who's this young man ? " 

" He rescued me." 

"More fool he," said the slim lady, acidly. 

" I say I " protested the young man. 

She whirled round on him. "T suppose you 
think," she said, "that you've • saved that 
wicked girl's life ? " 

" No such luck," he said. 

" Perhaps you'd' like to know who you've 
rescued ? " 

" Not Annette Kellerman, I hope ? " he 

" No, but the champion lady swimmer of 
Sussex ! " 

He had some ado to conceal his dismay. 
" Really t " he said ; and to the girl, with 
polite irony, " I congratulate you." But she 
was looking elsewhere. 

" And let me tell you," continued the slim 
lady, ruthlessly, " she no more fell into the water 
than you did. J know her. Only yesterday 
she said to me, ' If that old boat doesn't do some- 
thing desperate one of these mornings, / will. 
I've a good mind to jump overboard just for 
the fun of the thing.' " 

" Really I " he exclaimed, again. 






" She's always been the same. Ever since a 
child, when she was in a temper, the tirst tinny 
hbr'd do was to jump into the water." 

1P It seems to me a very sound way of treating 
a temper/' 

" Does it ? You try being her mother, young 
man, and see how yon like it. Now. then, 
Leslie, come along. Your fathers waiting to 
have a talk to you. 1 * 

" 1 11 come in a moment, mother," said the 
girl in the ghost of a voice. 

" You'd better." She walked primly to 
the door and, turning to the young man, " You 
be careful next time, young man, before you go 
saving peopled lives," she admonished him. 

by GoOgk' 

The slim lady vanished, leaving behind her 
a tense silence beyond human bearing, 

Her hack was turned to him, her head 
bowed. Mortification and perplexity battled 
within him. He tried to see the humour ot 
the thing. "I know she's your mother/' he 
said ; "but she's not quite herself to-day , it 
she ' " 

" No/' she muttered . 
Never heard such nonsense in my life, 
you ? 

" No." 

He breathed an immense sigh of relief. 
"That's all right," he said. "I'm jolly glad 
it's nonsense/' 

Original from 



FIKD YOU ! ' '* 

She turned on him swiftly, r * It's true, it's 
true ! I did jump in ! " she cried, violently. 

He stared agape for a moment ; then slowly 
turned towards the door. "In that case/' 
he said, quietly, " I think I'll be getting 
along. Unless there's anything I can do for 
you ? " 

" No," she said, sullenly, 

He went to the door. " I was wrong in what 
I said just now about women. Some of them 
are too able-bodied to need to depend on any- 
thing or anybody. And when they pretend 
to, they make other people feel very foolish- — 
and look very small/ * 

He turned to go. She did not move- Sud- 

by Google 

denly he turned back, "Look here/' he cried, 
" I don't believe it ! " 

" Don't you t ** she said, with a cry of 
pleasure/ -.L " *.« 

" I don't believe j'ou'd make an exhibition 
of yourself like that!- I .don't believe you'd 
do anything so — well, so confoundedly vulgar, 
so there IV • - - 

" No, I wouldn't, would I ? " she said, eagerly. 

" Of course you wouldn't ! So you didn't 
jump in ? " 

" Oh p but I did ! " 

" Ha I " he said, turning from her again. 

" Yes, I did ! But not to make an exhi- 
bition of myself. Not even for the fun of the 

" Then why I " 

" For something " — she hesitated — " some- 
thing nearly as schoolgirlish/ 1 

" Tell me/' he begged her ; "I adore school- 
girlishness ! M 

Her words came in a rush, like those of a 
naughty child % r oluble in unnecessary explana- 
tion. "I was wearing a bracelet— one I was 
fond of — I wouldn't have lost it for worlds. 
Just as I was stepping off the boat, the chain 
broke and it fell into the water/* 

"You don't tell me/* he exclaimed, "that 
you went in after it ? M 

zt I was in the water before I knew what I 
was doing. I'm used to it, I think nothing of 
it. And it was too maddening to see my bracelet 
there, sinking before ray eyes/' 

** Did you get it ? " he asked, excitedly. 

" Rather J " she said, proudly, and produced 
it from her pocket- 

" Well, you are a sportsman } " he shouted, 
and laughed uncontrollably. She joined him, 
and they laughed themselves back to easy, 
friendly terms with one another. 

41 It is an adventure after all, isn't it ? " 

" Yes E " he said, " and a rich one ! And 
every tiling's as it should be ! Don't you see ? 
I'm a hero — in intention ; and you're a weak, 
clinging woman — in intention 1 Intention is 
the thing that matters ! So we're all right, 
aren't we?" . 

" Perfectly [ M 

" And we keep our illusion — the knight- 
errant, and the damsel in distress- By the way, 
who are you, damsel ? " 

M I'm Leslie Avory/ 1 

" And what are you ? J ' 

" A typist What are you ? " 

" By birth, an idler ; by profession, a vis- 

** Oh, I think/ 1 she said, gaily, " you might 
have been a prince ! J1 

He came close to her. " I could be, if you 
would be princess/' he said, 

" Do you think I should know how > " she 
asked, all schoolgirl. 

"Leslie/' he said, " the poets often compare 
love to a deep sea. Could you stand another 
plunge this morning ? " 

Her silence was better than any word. 

" Jump 1 " he cried. 

Poor, weak woman I How she clung ! 

Original from 

■ Mi 



Illustrated liy Henry Evison. 

HE tantalizing mysteries of crime 

have inspired more than one 

writer of romance to attempt 

their unravelling in the guise 

of fiction. In many of the 

immortal tales of mystery and 

imagination that the disordered 

genius oi Edgar Allan Poe gave 

to the world the mystery was already to his 

hand, and the only thing due to his imagination 

was the manner of its solution. 

The fate of Mary Cecilia Rogers, the beautiful 
cigar girl of New York # has been a famous 
murder mystery for three-quarters of a century. 
The body, which was discovered and generally 
believed to be hers, was found drowned in July, 
1842, near a spot called the Sibyl's Cave, on 
the Jersey side of the Hudson. The girl had 
evidently been murdered before being put into 
the water, but all the efforts oi the New York 
police failed to bring the crime home to its 

The New York journals, during the many 
months of fruitless investigation, devoted a 
considerable amount of space to the life and 
adventures and death of the beautiful cigar 
girl, and the newspapers and periodicals were 
filled with the theories not only of amateur 
detectives but of criminal experts* 

In November, 1842, Edgar Allan Poe, under 
the pretext of solving the mystery oi the murder 
of a Parisian grisctte, took the known facts 
connected with the mystery of the murder of 
the New York cigar girl and paraphrased them 
in the story of his heroine. Poe's " Mystery 
of Marie Roget/' of Paris, is the Mystery of 
Mary Rogers of New York- But Poe, by the 
aid of his imagination, did what the New York 
police were never able to accomplish, He fixed 
the crime upon the guilty party. Poe's solution 
of the mystery of Marie Roget is a brilliant piece 
of logical deduction, but leaves the mystery 
of Mary Rogers exactly where it was. 

It will be more interesting to the reader to 
consider the solution that Poe arrived at in his 
fiction when the facts of the real happening 
have been marshalled. 

by Google 

Mary Rogers was a pretty, frivolous girl 
with any number of admirers. Her elderly 
mother kept a boarding- house in Nassau Street, 
New York, but Mary, who had a taste for finery 
and was fond of admiration, instead of staying 
at home and helping her mother accepted a 
position as counter girl at the store of a well- 
known New York tobacconist and snuff man in 
facturer named John Anderson. The young 
and pretty girl was an immense attraction 
to the stores, and presently became known in 
New York as ' H The Beautiful Cigar Girl. JJ 

Mary, though undoubtedly frivolous and fond 
of admiration, was a generally well-conducted 
girl and served her employer loyally in return 
for the excellent salary he paid her. She had a 
host of admirers, but among these admirers 
only one lover. This wag a young naval officer, 
a frequent customer at the stores, 

But one day the customers came to the cigar 
shop to find that its* great attraction had dis- 
appeared* Mary was no longer behind the 
counter. Presently it was ascertained that she 
had not only disappeared from the cigar shop 
but from her home, and it was never definitely 
ascertained why she left home or whither she 

But in a couple of months Mary Rogers re- 
appeared at the counter, and the beautiful cigar 
girl was once more the talk of New York. 

Early in the year 1842 Mary left Air. Ander- 
son's employment and remained at the boarding- 
house, assisting her mother, who was an aid 
lady of seventy. Some of her mother s mate 
boarders were her devoted admirers. 

Her principal admirer was Daniel Payn, wh^ 
was a rather dissipated young man, but ofifj 
in a mild way, and he and Mary Rogers presently 
became an engaged couple. 

On the morning of Sunday, July 24th, 184^ 
Mary called up from the hall to Payn, who was 
dressing in his own room. She told him that she 
was going to spend the day at the house of he? 
aunt. If she had not returned by supper- 1 inn- 
would Payn come to the house and fetch her ' 
Payn called down the stairs and said, " AM 

Original from 



Mary Rogers went out of her mother's house 
after making this contingent appointment with 
Payn and was never again seen alive. There 
was a heavy thunderstorm' that evening, and 
Payn. supposing that Mary would remain at 
her aunt's house, did not go to fetch her. 

When, however, the girl did not return the 
next morning, inquiries were made and it was 
then ascertained that her aunt had seen nothing 
of her. More serious inquiries were at once 
made, and it was presently discovered that 
Mary had been seen by an acquaintance on 
Sunday morning walking along Broadway and 
down Barclay Street in the direction of Hoboken 

A stage-driver, named Adam, had seen her 
at a somewhat later hour walking with a young 
man at the foot of Wcehawken Hill on the 
Jersey side of the river. This part of the river 
was a favourite Sunday resort of Mew Yorkers 

the Sibyl's Cave when one of them exclaimed, 
" Look ! there's a body ! " The body was 
floating on the waters of the cave, a cavity into 
which the tide flowed. 

The body, which was that of a young woman, 
was towed to the shore, A piece of light material 
was found tightly twisted round her throat. 
The medical man who was the first to examine 
the dead secret of the cave was of opinion that 
the girl had been strangled with the nchu she 
was wearing at the time she was attacked, A 
long strip had also been torn from the girl's 
skirt and tied round the body in such a way 
as to enable the murderer to drag it along the 
ground. There was another loop round the 
neck, and both loops were tied with the knot 
which is as a rule made by sailors. 

A hurried inquest was held in jersey, an open 
verdict was returned, and the body was buried 
as that of a woman unknown, Apparently 



of a roughish class. There were a number of 
small restaurants and bar-rooms in the neigh- 
bourhood, and at one, kept by a Mrs. Loss, 
Mary Rogers and the young man appeared late 
in the afternoon. They had refreshments and 
went away. Soon afterwards a number of 
roughs came into the bar and had drinks for 
which they refused to pay, and then went oti 
in the direction taken by the young couple. 

It was from Mrs. Loss that the police obtained 
a description of the young man who was the 
last person seen in Mary s company. He was 
a good-looking young man of medium height, 
stoutly built, and with a swarthy complexion, 
and he appeared to be a man who was very 
much bronzed, as though he had led an open-air 
or a seafaring life. 

It was on Sunday afternoon that Mary Rogers 
had been seen for the last time. Qn the fol- 
lowing Wednesday some anglers were near 

by Google 

at that time the disappearance of Mary Rogers 
had not been officially notified to the New York 

But the report of the inquest attracted the 
attention of the people who knew of the dis- 
appearance of the beautiful cigar girl, and a 
New York journal demanded that the body 
should be disinterred and a proper inquiry held 
upon it. When this was eventually done 
decomposition had set in to such an extent that 
it was impossible to recognize the features, 
but portions of the clothing were identified 
more or Icns positively and the l>ody was gener- 
ally accepted as that of Mary Rogers, 

The New York authorities being satisfied 
with the evidence as to identity, devoted them- 
selves to the discovery of the murderer. Who 
was the swarthy young man who had been last 
seen with the girl ? 

The affair had now become the principal 

Original from 



topic of conversation in New York, Large 
rewards were offered to anyone who would 
come forward and give information which 
would lead to the solution of the mystery. The 
excitement became so intense that one of the 
leading journals declared that the affair had 
reached the proportion of a national event. 
Sermons were preached upon it and articles and 
essays were written upon it, but not a single 
ray of light fell upon the dark path which 
the police were blindly following in the hope 
of stumbling upon a solution of the problem. 

And then suddenly something happened 
which brought the interest up to fever -heat. 
Some boys, roaming in the thicket not far from 
the spot where Mary Rogers had been last 
seen, came upon a wliite petticoat, a parasol, 
a silk scarf, a pair of gloves, and a handkerchief. 
The articles were all saturated with rain, and 
some of them covered with mildew, AH these 

they called a throne, and it was frequently 
entered by boys in search of certain herbs 
that grew there. 

How was it that some weeks had el a p set! 
before any of the children or boys noticed the 
scattered belongings? of the victim ? Was it 
not possible that these things had been placed 
there only a few days before the discovery, 
and had then remained unnoticed because it 
had been raining heavily and the wet weather 
had interfered with the daily excursions of the 
children ? 

The boys who found the things did not iv^v- 
them on the spot. They took them home with 
them, and it was after they had been seen bv 
grown-up people that the articles were handed 
over to '.he authorities, 

It was suggested that the girl had not been 
murdered in the thicket, but elsewhere, and 
the petticoat, gloves, handkerchief, parasol, 





things were eventually proved to have been 
worn by Mary Rogers on the Sunday morning 
when she left her mother's home for the last 
time. There was no doubt a-bout it. The 
handkerchief was marked with her name. 

With the discovery of portions of Mary Rogers' 
clothing in the thicket the police at once came 
to the conclusion that this was the scene of the 
crime. The tfirl had been killed in the thicket 
and the murderer had dragged the body across 
the intervening ground to ding it into the river, 
But some of the criminal experts had doubts. 

On the spot where the petticoat, the parasol, 
the gloves, etc.. had been discovered there were 
some pieces of stone or rock which were of a 
peculiar formation. Together they formed a 
seat with a back to it, and at the foot of the 
seat was a footstool. The children of the neigh- 
bourhood were in the habit of playing in this 
thicket and sitting on the stone chair, which 

by Google 

etc., had been placed in the thicket in order 
to put the police upon a wrong scent' in their 
search for the murderer. 

Another suggestion was even more sensational. 
It was that the body found was not that of 
Mary Rogers, but that the beautiful cigar girl 
had wilfully disappeared exactly as she h,i'5 
done on a previous occasion, and that the t hi rips 
which had been found in the thicket had bet n 
placed there by her accomplice in order to st<_.p 
any search for her being made in the land of 
the living. 

But the police accepted the finding of thtr 
clothes in the thicket as they had accepted the 
body, and they continued their search for the 
murderer, At one time suspicion, because of 
the sailor's knot, fell upon Mary's former 
sweetheart, the young naval officer, but he had 
not been in or near New York for mouths before 
the crime. 

Original from 



The theory that some of the gang of roughs 
had committed the crime was untenable. They 
would not have taken the trouble to drag the 
girl's body from the place where the crime was 
committed. And there was the swarthy young 
man to be accounted for. -If the girl had been 
dragged from him he would have raised an 
alarm, or at least have given information after- 
wards, unless, of course, he had been murdered 
too. But if he had been murdered his body 
would have been found. 

Nothing happened to clear up the mystery, 
which was added to by the persistent way in 
which a certain number of people absolutely 
refused to believe that Mary Rogers had been 
murdered at all. 

But Daniel Payn was evidently convinced 
that she had been. Some months after the 
tragedy he was discovered in the thicket dying. 
He lay*close to the spot on which the scattered 
garments of his fiancie had been found, and by 
his side was an empty laudanum bottle. In 
one of his pockets a piece of paper was found 
on which he had written, " Here I am, on the 
very spot. God forgive me for my misspent 

Anderson, the cigar merchant, in whose 
employment Mary had been at one time, was 
suspected of being the murderer. Immediately 
after the discovery he left New York in such a 
hurried manner that it was looked upon as 
flight, and the police followed him and 
arrested him. But he was able to account 
satisfactorily for the whole of his time on the 
fatal Sunday. 

The employer of the beautiful cigar girl 
became enormously wealthy. When he died 
in Paris in the early 'eighties, the story of the 
mystery of Mary Rogers was told again at 
considerable length in the American Press. In 
his later years Anderson became a confirmed 
believer in spiritualism, and frequently asserted 
that he held communion with the murdered 
girl. But it is not on record that the spirit 
of Mary Rogers ever told him the name of her 
mufderer, and so the fate of the " Beautiful 
Cigar Girl " remains to this day an unsolved 
mystery of crime, so far as fact is concerned. 

Edgar Allan Poe solved it in fiction. His 
theory is that the sailor-sweetheart, the young 
naval officer who had been responsible for her 
first disappearance from the cigar shop, was the 
murderer. But the police had already enter- 
tained this theory and followed it up. The 
young officer, whose name was known to a 
large number of the frequenters of the cigar 
shop, had been traced, and the police had no 
difficulty in ascertaining his whereabouts on 
the fatal Sunday, and the knowledge they 
acquired was sufficient to dismiss him from the 

But if we take the theory that the mystery 
of the beautiful cigar girl is not " Who mur- 
dered her ? " but M What became of her ? " 
it is not at all difficult to justify it by facts. 
When Mary Rogers left her mother's home on 
the Sunday morning she deliberately planned 
a deception. She said she was going to her 

Digitized by OOOQ IC 

aunt's, which was untrue, and to prevent her 
affianced husband, Daniel Payn, calling during 
the day and so finding out "that she had deceived 
him, she told him to call for her if she did not 
return by supper- time. That gave her from 
nine o'clock in the morning till late in the evening 
to make her arrangements without interference. 
She was so far an accomplice in the mystery 
of the day's happenings. 

The meeting with the swarthy young man 
was no chance meeting. The girl herself had 
evidently agreed to it and had arranged that 
there should be no inquiry for her till the last 
possible moment, when, in any circumstances, 
her failure to return home would cause a search 
for her to be made. 

The clothes found in the thicket were un- 
doubtedly hers, but the circumstances in which 
they were found strongly suggest that they 
had been placed there after the discovery of 
a body in the Sibyl's ,Cave, and that this had 
been done in order to confirm the belief that 
the murdered girl was Mary Rogers. 

Certain points in the identification of the 
body recall the story of another unsolved 
mystery of crime, which is known as the Mil- 
waukeeMystery. At nine o'clock in the morning 
of April 14th, 1855, a parcel was dragged from 
the river just below one of the bridges. When 
the parcel was opened it was found to contain 
the head and trunk of a human body. The 
sack in which the body was found had been 
frayed at one end by the action of the water, 
and the missing portions of the body had fallen 
or been washed through the aperture. The 
body was in a wheat-sack, and the name of 
" Vogt " was stamped upon it. The sack had 
been tied up with peculiar knots, which were 
at once recognized as the knots usually made 
by French sailors. 

The police inquiries, which were at once 
set on foot, resulted in the discovery that a man, 
named John Dwire, was missing. A large 
number of witnesses — over a dozen — many of 
whom were well acquainted with the missing 
man, identified the remains as those of Dwire. 
They recognized the body, not only by the 
features, but by the scar of a burn on the left 
cheek, two missing front teeth in the lower 
jaw, the leg-of-mutton whiskers, the bald head 
with a fringe of sandy hair, a scar on a finger 
of the left hand, and a scar on the thumb of 
the right hand. These witnesses were men and 
women who had known Dwire for years, and 
they were positive in their testimony. 

The police, in the course of their investigation, 
found that from one of the low haunts Dwire 
was known to frequent a French sailor, called 
Matelot Jack, who had been employed as a 
bar-tender in a dram-shop, had disappeared, 
and he was suspected of having tied the knots. 
But suspicion also fell upon a German who had 
been seen in company with Dwire the evening 
before he had been missed from his home and 
his accustomed haunts. 

The German was about to be arrested when a 
sensational turn was given to events. While 
the deputy-sheritt and other officials were 




examining witnesses at the adjourned inquest 
a man walked into court and exclaimed. u I 
am John Dwire. Lest anyone here should 
think that I am dead, I have come to take my 
solemn oath that I am not the corpse found in 
the river last Saturday morning." 

The police were never abJe to discover whose 
corpse it was that had been recognized by a dozen 
witnesses as that of John Dwire. The New 
York police stopped their inquiries with regard 
to the body found in the Sibyl's Cave directly 
a number of witnesses had said that it was the 
missing Mary Rogers. 

Mary Rogers may, for reasons of her own, 

from Campden to a neighbouring village to 
collect some rents. Several articles belonging 
to him were found, blood-stained, at a certain 
spot on the road. A servant of Harrison's, 
named John Perry, and John Perry's mother 
and brother were arrested and charged with 
murdering him. Although the body was not 
found they were convicted and executed. 

Two years afterwards, Mr. Harrison walked 
into his house at Campden in the best of health, 
and explained his absence by the statement that 
he had been attacked on the road by a number 
of horsemen and carried off to foreign parts, 
where he was sold into slavery, The story was 



have gladly availed herself of the situation 
created by the idea that she was dead, and also 
for reasons of her own she may have allowed 
the mystery surrounding her fate to remain 

Tlutr air innumerable instances of the " dead 
alive " in the annals of criminal romance, One 
of the most famous instances is that of Mr. 
William Harrison, who was steward to I^ady 
Campden, the daughter and co-heiress of Sir 
Baptist Hicks, who built the Clerk en we 11 Sessions 
House, known as Hicks HalL 

Harrison, who was seventy years of age, 
disappeared on August 1 6th, lobo, on his way 

highly improbable, but it seems to have been 

Burke, in referring to it, says that it stands in 
our criminal annals a landmark, to show how 
courts and ministers of justice, however able, 
may now and then be most fatally deceived 
and misled, whether the evidence be circum- 
stantial pr direct. 

It is quite possible that the case of -1 The 
Beautiful Cigar Girl " of New York may have 
remained an unsolved mystery of crime because 
the authorities entrusted with the investigation 
were, by evidence that was both circumstantial 
and direct, deceived and misled. 

by Google 

Original from 



Ill us t rated by i^arwick Reynolds, 


E was blue as the blue hills 
that faded away on every 
hand, but he lacked their 
dignity of outline and mien* 
In fact , he lacked any sort 
of dignity. He was the most 
disreputable -looking terrier 
that ever hopped on three legs— until you 
met his eyes, umber dark and amber clear, 
glowing softly under his dingy white topknot- 
And then you knew what a great-hearted 
little fellow he was, 

Tiger was varmint right through, as a 
Bedlmgton should be. 

But I am sorry to say he only comes into 
this story to effect an introduction which 
ended, as a few do, in a friendship, 

Just now he was busy. Very busy. His 
lean, wicked jaw, its dour cruelty hidden by 
a silky frill of hair, was being driven violently 
through gorse and bracken in obedience to 
his jet-black nose, And his frantic tail was 
drumming on his ribs. 

His master f as disreputable -looking an 
object as he, was watching him intently, . 

For when Tiger got busy, .something usually 
happened. And something happened now. 
A big buck rabbit suddenly leapt up from a 
tuft of bracken exactly the same colour as he 
was and went dotting undecidedly away up 
the smooth-cropped ride amongst the gorse. 

He soon, very soon, realized indecision was 
hardly what he wanted just then. Tiger 
loosed himself (and gained beauty in the act 7 
for he galloped like a greyhound) and was at 
his Scut, And the rabbit only just jinked 
away from him in time. Tiger snapped 
round like a polo pony and flung himself into 
the prickles after him. But the rabbit had 
the better of him there and led by yards when 
he got out on to the next ride that crossed 
the top of the hill. 

Tigers master let out a bellow at the find, 
for he was young, and rabbit-hunting was as 
good fun as anything else. But as he ran on 
up the hill he perforce became silent, for he 
was a lanky boy, not built for fast work up 
hill tli rough gorse and heather and rocks. 
Once he slipped and came down, head first, 
into a young t^nrse bush as healthy as he. 

h, w. Kmght-RrucUriginal from 




And once he put his leg into a hole in the 
granite up to the knee and lost precious 
minutes getting it out. 

On the top of the hill was a great tor of 
weathered granite, black in its own shadow, 
and round this the rabbit disappeared with 
Tiger after him like the end of a whip-lash, 
for he was gaining on the flat and meant to 
be with his game in a very few minutes. 

And so he was, and just putting in those 
few extra strides that make the kill, when the 
rabbit — his rabbit — was taken out of his 
very jaws by a ball of white hair that flung 
itself yelling out of a near-by gorse bush. 

If Tiger was disreputable, this animal 
certainly was ridiculous. To begin with, it 
had no legs or nose to speak of. Then it had 
a head like a coal-hammer and a coat like a 
child's woolly ball. In fact, it was a prize- 
bred Sealyham, with its coat unpolled since 
its new master had bought it. For he was 
ignorant of that art and only wondered dimly 
why his dog's hair had grown so extra- 
ordinarily since he had it. 

But at any rate it killed the rabbit. 

And then there was trouble. As there 
often is between sportsmen when one has his 
eye wiped. 

Tiger flung himself at the white animal, 
who at once left the rabbit and joined battle. 

Now a Bedlington was bred for fighting 
and seldom does his breeder discredit. He 
has a vicious slash-and-get-away style that 
defeats most sorts of dogs. And will even 
crimson and ribbon a bull-terrier waiting 
half asleep for his one, last, hold. 

The little Sealyham, game as a pebble, 
reared up snarling in correct preliminary, 
and found a line of red slowly dripping across 
liis near shoulder. He could make nothing 
of it, for the fight had not yet begun — and 
as he gazed at it in wonder, lo ! there was 
another line painted in scarlet from side to 
side of his broad loins, and under it grew and 
grew a numbing pain. 

His snarl rattled and dropped a note deeper 
and he flung himself at the blue — and met 
his teeth in silk where he had hoped for meat. 
For the Bedlington keeps two coats, " the 
outer long and silky and the inner close and 
rather woolly. " 

He was all for trying again, but at this 
minute deliverance came to him. For his 
master came up and seeing his beloved Dick 
being attacked by another dog (nobody's 
dog ever attacks another : he is always 
attacked. This is a curious fact), straightway 
dropped a stout ash-plant on to the stranger, 
and drove the blow home with words as stout. 

by V_ 



It was unfortunate that Tiger's owner 
happened round the great tor at this particular 
moment. For, of course, all he saw was a 
great brutal fellow, built like a chimpanzee, 
leathering his poor harmless dog. Dog 
owners are like that. 

" Leave my dog alone, sir ! " he roared 
through his panting. " You ought to be 
ashamed of yourself thrashing a dog like 

" Call your savage brute off if you've got 
any control over him," roared the other quite 
as angrily. " A dog like that oughtn't to be 
allowed at large. He's precious near killed 
mine." And he went on putting his ash- 
plant into Tiger. He had a certain amount 
of excuse, for so far it had had no effect on 
that gentleman. There is only one dog more 
difficult than a Bedlington to stop fighting. 
For that and other reasons they say you 
want to be a young man to own one. Still, 
it undoubtedly "handicapped him, and Dick 
was getting in some quite creditable work. 

Tiger's owner was called Maxwell and he 
was very angry. Not because he was called 
Maxwell, but because he was Tiger's owner. 
He went up to the other and said, " Leave my 
dog alone^ I tell you ! " ' 

44 I'll be damned if I will," said the other, 
as fiercely. 

Tiger's owner hit him. 

It had a wonderful effect. To begin with, 
the dogs stopped fighting at once. They 
realized this was more exciting than a mere 
dog-fight. And the men, who were both 
very hot and angry and undignified, became 
of a sudden both very cool and calm and 
very dignified. 

" You'll take that back," said Grey, which 
was the name of Dick's owner. 

" I should like to," agreed Maxwell — and 
he took off his coat. 

Grey took off his coat too and flung it down 
beside Maxwell's. Now both the coat$ were 
the same, so exactly that it would have been 
hard to say from which boy (for they were 
hardly more, both of them) either had come. 
Not only were they the same in pattern and 
material, but also in their rather uncommon 
design and cut, and even to their buttons. 

And looking at their owners as they stood 
unbuttoning their waistcoats another thing 
became plain. The rest of their clothes 
were as alike as their coats. They gave the 
impression of being a uniform, or rather a 
sort of a nightmare of a fatigue dress. 

Their _waistcoats were the same : knitted 
and yellow and as hard worn as their coats ; 
and under them they both had the effronterv 
Original from 



to wear shirts and collars to match of the 
same horrible hues : Maxwell a searing 
purple, and Grey a melancholy olive green; 
and they both wore blue and white striped 
ties, though Grey's seemed to he more faded 
than Maxwell's. Their shoes were the same, 
huge brogues. Their socks were alike at 
any rate in their impossibility, and their 
trousers, short, wrinkled, and baggy, had 
obviously been of the same grey flannel at 
one time- 
It was a curious tiling, but neither of them 
seemed to notice it Perhaps they were 
i;olour-Mind ? or, at any rate, colour-blinded. 
These astounding clothes were presently 
explained, for as they unbuttoned their 
collars both spoke together, 

" Perhaps I ought to tell you- — - " 
And both stopped together, most politely* 
Then they both began again. 

" Perhaps I ought to tell you— — }i 
And again they stopped. There was a 
long [muse, for they were feeling very polite. 
Grey broke it. 

lt that I know something about boxing/' 

" — — that I know something about 
boxing/' Maxwell finished a syllable behind 

11 In fact/* said Grey, " I am Grey of 

41 I'm hanged if you are/' riposted Maxwell. 
'* At least you may be Grey, but you're not 
of Trinity. For I don't know you and I'm 
a Trinity man/' 

i£ I did not say Trinity, Oxford/' answered 
Grey, simply. lf I said Trinity." 

Maxwell jumped up as if he'd been stung. 
This was cause enough for battle in itself. 
After all j he had hit the man and was half 
thinking of apologizing* But not now. 
Not now*. If a man tells you he is in the 
jioth, and you ask him if he means the 
110th Madkhan Grenadiers, he nmy forgive 
you, for a hu.ssar often has a sense of humour, 
and, after all, there are several units so 
numbered. Hut there is only one Trinity ; 
the one you happen to be at. 

So off came his shirt and off came Grey's, 
and then it was to be seen they w T ere both 
trained. Now a trained man outside a boat 


3d by L* GO »™." 

Vol. jv.^ie 





club or a ring is as rare an object as a trained 
horse off a course. 

And their eyes were trained to take in 
training. They looked at each other's skin, 
white and dry as ivory ; they looked at the 
rippling muscle working easily under it, and 
they grinned. This was going to be fun. 

Grey jumped back from the handshake 
and then bored his way in again. He was a 
rushing, two-handed fighter, who stood 
almost square to his man, and his attack was 
fury itself. Low and dark and squat, he had 
a chest like a barrel and hands that hung 
down his thighs as he stood. So what he 
lost in command he made up in reach. 

Maxwell was long and lank and short of a 
rib. He fought head up, using his height to 
its last inch of advantage and prop, prop, 
propping with a far-stretched left. 

Grey drew blood with his first furious rush 
and drove the other back and back, circling 
slowly to the right as he went. But Grey 
himself did not escape too lightly, for ever 
as he drove Kis great square-handed blows 
and flung himself forward behind them, he 
was met by that irritating prop that just 
seemed to take the real sting out of them, 
even if they landed, which often they did not. 

Tiger and Dick sat up on their hind-legs 
and watched with the deepest interest. They 
had never seen such an _ extraordinarily 
inefficient method of fighting in their lives. 

The fight went on. Grey seemed bent on 
putting his man out at first go-off — to the 
inexpert it would have seemed as if he would 
do it. Crash, crash, crash, came in his great 
punches, often on arm or uplifted shoulder, 
oftener whistling past just-ducked head, but 
often, too, landing fair and honest with the 
soft crunch that tells of good blow well driven 

For Maxwell seeiTled fighting at some 
great disadyantage. His ringcraft was beau- 
tiful, his footwork was beautiful, and so was 
his propping, steadying left. But his right 
was almost valueless to him, except as a 
guard. It rested inert across his chest ; 
sjme times it flicked to catch and deflect a 
crashing body punch, -more rarely, much 
more rarely, it flicked to the other's heart 
when its owner was specially hard pressed. 
But it had no venom about it even then. Its 
punch might have scored a point in a ring, 
but hardly in the Prize Ring. 

" Wouldn't dent a pat of butter," thought 
Grey rather scornfully to himself as he took 
it unmoved on his ear. " But the blighter 

■t fight. If only he had a right, he'd be a 
r. As it is I think I'll wear him down. 

by Google 

He can't keep me out for ever with that punt- 
pole of a left of his." 

Maxwell was a beautiful fighter to watch, 
except for that awkward, almost useless 
right. Any novice in the art could have 
seen the beauty and the defect. But it 
would have taken an expert to have noted 
the brain-work behind Grey's squatterin^ 
rushes : the timing of them, the slip and 
inspired duck to avoid that propping left, 
the cool thought behind the rain of blows to 
time and direct each one, the foot-work, 
ungraceful, but perfectly correct; all was 
good. And there are few things more diffi- 
cult in the art of bruising than to think and 
keep on thinking during the exhilaration of 
a tavo-handed rush. 

You remember Tiger and Dick were sitting 
up looking on at all this ? Well, as Grey 
side-stepped to the left to come in on his 
man's blind side (for so he thought of Max- 
well's right) he trod on Dick's fat long body 
and came down on all fours. 

" End of the first round ? " asked Maxwell, 
dropping his hands. 

" Rather ! " agreed Grey. " It's hard work 
on the grass." 

They sat down and panted. For fighting 
as hard as they had been fighting is hard , 
work on grass, as Grey had noticed, even if 
one is trained as they were trained. 

Maxwell had got the worst of it so far on 
looks. The outside of his left shoulder, 
which, cunningly wrapped round his jaw, had 
taken the brunt of Grey's sledge-hammer ; 
rights, was burst and bleeding. Both his j 
lips were split and bleeding too, and dull red 
and blue stains were growing clearer and l 
darker over ribs and left side. 

Grey had got off much more lightly. His 
left eye was closing, but otherwise he had 
very little to show for his ten minutes without 

" Ready ? " he said. 

" Ready," and Maxwell rose too. 

The second round was like the first in time 
and tactics, and it ended in the same way, 
though it was Maxwell who trod on Dick this 
time. But Dick saw no advantage in that ; 
and the third was like the second. 

It was rather a different pair that rose 
unsteadily for the fourth round. Maxwell 
was red from crown to Old Etonian sash 
knotted round his waist, and Grey's eye was 
closed now and slashed across where the 
other's steady left had caught it at each rush. 

M Got him this time ! " thought its owner 
jubilantly to himself. " No man can stand 
the hammering I've given this one. If only 

Original from 



I can get past his left once, just once, I'll 
have him done in a jiffy." 

And he feinted a slip to the left, and side- 
stepped like lightning to the right. He got 
in properly that time and flailed two-handed 
at his man. It was then he regretted again 
he had split Maxwell's lip early in the fight ; 
his good punches slithered v and~slipped away 
from his ribs with most of their drive lost 
from them. For every time he had visited 
his man's mouth he had brought something 
away with him to make his next body punch 
lose its cling. 

But even with that Maxwell ought to have 
drooped and sunk under that rapid punish- 
ment. But he didn't. That was the extra- 
ordinary thing. He didn't. He just went 
on stretching out his left and finally drove 
Grey out to his distance again. 

The latter was not to be denied. He 
dropped his hands to rush his way in again. 
And then he did a wonderful thing ; a thing 
that would have proved his class as a fighter 
even to those ^who in their ignorance might 
think his rushes unscientific. He ducked — 
ever such a little, almost without knowing 
he did it, and certainly without knowing why 
he did it. He only knew that when he felt 
the whiss-ss of air past his left ear. His 
perception as a fighter had made him duck 
before his brain had consciously taken in the 
need to do so. 

He jumped back and landed a yard clear, 
bouncing on the balls of his socked feet, and 
shook Ins head. This was something new. 
Maxwell had never loosed a punch like that 
before. And it must have been his right he 
hacl sent, too. That useless, awkwardly- 
carried right that hung as if in splints across 
his chest now. 

He came in again, more cautiously than 
he had done before, and got to work, guard- 
edly at first, and then with greater freedom as 
he met only that correct, disconcerting, but 
not alarming left. 

As he worked on with more and more 
confidence, notching point after telling point, 
he began to think that vicious whiss-ss had 
been a dream, or that, at any rate, it had 
been a left-hander, for Maxwell's right ever 
rested awkwardly on the defensive. 

Then he began to get angry. He would 
be winning hands down if he were in a ring, 
for he was slamming away at his man almost 
as he liked and had marked him very prettily. 
He was getting practically nothing in return 
but those straight-arm jabs in the left eye 
(which carried twenty-three stone weight 
behind them, however, for they stopped the 

by t^ 



rush of both men) and which now were 
beginning to make themselves felt all through 
Mm at each new one. He felt he was winning 
as he liked on points, and yet there was his 
man still comfortably on his feet before him 
smiling slowly through his split lips and 
clear and accurate in his brain-work as ever. 

So Grey began to get angry. But he did 
not show it in his boxing. He was no novice. 
He merely thought the harder how to finish. 
He feinted with his left at the head and 
whistled in a right to the body. , Maxwell 
blocked it and jerked out his right in a throat 
punch, just hard enough to drive Grey out 

He was back in a flash. His temper made 
him take a risk and he came in on a Sling 
Change — a thing he had never dared to try 
in a fight, and indeed one wants to be quick- 
footed 'and quick-headed to bring off that 
lightning stroke. Feinting again with his 
left he snapped his right foot past his left so 
that he gained near a yard of ground and had 
his shoulder almost pressing down on Max- 
well's right. Then he wrenched his body 
round from the loins and his right, almost 
behind him now, should have ground into 
Maxwell's mark. The latter just, and only 
just, dropped his right in time to guard, and 
Grey side-stepped the unvicious counter. 

Maxwell did not show his punishment 
much, but he was feeling it nevertheless, 
and he knew to the full the mental exhilara- 
tion of a brain working to the utmost limit 
of its , efficiency. It is an exhilaration that 
it is worth undergoing something to feel. 

A philosopher, a man of letters, a sage, 
feels it when, surrounded by works of refer- 
ence, he writes in his warm and perfectly fitted 
study. His brain is thus at its best, giving 
its highest work, and its owner feels the pride 
of it. Cold, pain, danger, excitement, or 
even a barrel-organ in the street, take off the 
fifte edge of its efficiency, and its owner feels 
mental humiliation at once. 

There are other types of brain that, perhaps, 
bewildered in the study, need the spur of 
danger or pain to bring out their best work, 
and it is only when they have that spur that 
their 'owners can feel real intellectual pride. 

That is why a man beaten into his corner, 
dazed, hardly conscious, feels so completely 
the pride of intellect. For his brain is work- 
ing at top efficiency under the most baffling 
of difficulties, and after all that is a great 
test of any machine, and not least of the 
thinking machine. 

And so Maxwell, though his head was 
singing and his knees felt weak and unsteady 

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miles beneath him, yet felt the same pride of 
intellect as the gentleman who jumped out 
of his bath with the cry of " Eureka ! I 
have found it ! " He had found that his brain, 
working at its best, had discovered squares on 
two sides of a right-angled triangle to be equal 
to the square on the hypotenuse — or some- 
thing to the same tune. Maxwell had found 
that his brain, working at its best, had dis- 
covered the exact and best way of dealing with 
Grey's mad but scientific rushes ; and both 
knew the same conceit. 

So Maxwell fought on, steady, cool, 
thoughtful, taking his punishment as it came, 
seeming to get the worst of every exchange 
and seeming to be only waiting, waiting. 

For what ? Grey had wondered earlier in 
the fight, but wondered no longer. No man, 
thought he, could wait so patiently through 
such a gruelling. It must be that Maxwell 
had nothing to wait for, except the end. 

And again he bored into his man. He had 
nearly, very nearly, once brought off the 
Sling Change. Now he would try its com- 
pletion — the Fitzsimmons' shift, that marvel 
of tricky footwork, that won so many fights 
lor file one man who cou*d use it to perfection. 

He tried to draw Maxwell's right and 
thought he had. Then the side-step and quick 
change of feet. Then, as he balanced insecure 
for that fleeting fraction of a second, Maxwell's 
waiting was at an end. His awkward, useless- 
looking right drove out straight and true to 
the point of the jaw, Maxwell's whole weight 
braced rigid on it, straight from the ba*l of 
his right foot. 

Grey fell as a man does fall when he is 
knocked out, like a marionette with a broken 
str ng, straight down into a crumpled ball on 
the ground. 

Of course, he was not knocked out in the 
technical sense of the word — that is, uncon- 
scious for any period of time you like over 
ten seconds. You want the extra bearing 
surface of a glove to give that. You will 
find plenty of cases of men being put to sleep 
with one punch of the bare fist in fiction, but 
you will be hard put to it to find one in the 
records of the Prize Ring. 

Grey regained consciousness as he bumped 
i arth , and was up like a jack-in-the-box. But 
that was pluck, for pluck will lift a man 
unconscious, so that his first conscious feeling 
is being knocked down again. 

He looked round. The great black tor 
above him seemed to sway against the grey 
*;ky, but there was no one under it to fight. 
He looked down. Maxwell was sitting on the 
turf, his hands crossed round his knees. 

by Google 

" Come on/' said Grey. His voice seemed 
to him to come from a long way off. • 

" D'you mind if we stop ? " said Maxwell. 

" Well fight this out," said Grey, stub- 
bornly. In boxing, as at cards, it is the loser 
who wants to go on. 

" Let's stop and call it quits." 

" No, we don't. You put me down, and 
you'll think you've Won if we call it off now." 

" Oh, dear me, no." Maxwell looked at 
the man. It would be cruelty to let him go 
on, for that last terrible punch had taken 
much out of him. But how to get him to 
stop ? He was evidently game as a pebble 
and not at all anxious to admit he'd had 
enough. Yet Maxwell shuddered to think 
of the butchery it would mean to go on now. 
Why, the man swayed and jerked in recovery 
as he stood, yet glared defiance out of his one 

" Oh, dear me, no," he repeated, fighting 
for time. And not in vain, for a thought 
came to him. 

" Oh, no. Why, you've had all the best 
of it up to that last little thing. But, I say, 
didn't you say your name was Grey ? " 

" It is. Come on." Grey felt he would 
not be able to keep on his feet much longer 
and wanted to begin betore he collapsed. 

" Of Trinity ? " 

11 Yes. Come on." 

" Then you must be the Captain of the 
'Varsity Boxing Club ? Silly of me not to 
have recognized your name at once, wasn't 

" Yes," said Grey, in answer to the first 
question. " Come on, damn you ! " 

" Better call this a draw after all. We'll 
be meeting again next month. I'm the 
Captain of my 'Varsity." 

Grey sat down. He was glad to. 

" Then you're Maxwell ? " he said. 

" I am." 

11 The man who likes punishment ? " 

" Well, I don't like it," said Maxwell. " But 
I am fortunate enough to be able to stand 
some of it." 

" And I suppose that's your famous 
1 waiting right ' you brought off on me ? " 
mused Grey. 

" Well, I don't know if it's famous," said 
Maxwell, modestly, " but it's certainly 
mine," He glanced ruefully at his skinned 

Grey suddenly chuckled feebly. 

" It'll be a great fight next month," he said. 
" A great fight ! " 

Maxwell laughed. 

11 You're right, old chap," he said. 




- $» - 

Marguerite Clark, TKeda Bara, Anita Stewart, Mary Mile* Minter* 
Pauline Frederick, and Norma Talmadgc, 

PhQl J.] 



i ILL she screen well ? Jt is the 
question which every moving- 
picture director mentally asks 
when a new aspirant for film 
honours presents herself h>r a 
" test." And there is no real 
answer until the camera is 
Set to work and the result 
revealed in a hundred feet or so ut sensitized 
ribbon. Many a pretty woman who sees herself 
on the screen for the first time lias fled from the 
studio never to return, for the camera is a sad 
searcher out of blemishes, hues, and wrinkles. 
Rit to the girl with a pleasing appearance 

Digitized by CiOOglC 

who M register* Jl we ii_ as the director terms it 
—and is quick to grasp what is redly a new kind 
of stage technique, the cp silent drama " is one 
winch brings her speedier universal recognition 

than anything else in the world. In a 
months — under proper management— she 
be known from one end ot the earth 
the other and, secure the nearest thing 
mundane immortality that the mind < 
imagine. And as everyone, more or I 
is interested in the personal side of 
movies, we have invited a number of i 
** stars '* to tell our readers just h8w t 
** broke i 




Original from 





" My entrance into the motion- 
Marguerite picture field," writes Marguerite 
Clark. Clark, of the Famous Players, 
" was more a matter of circum- 
stance than of sentimentality. I had just 
finished a long run of ' Prunella ' on the stage 
and could not find another play that I liked. 
During the time that I was playing ' Prunella ' 
various motion-picture managers, or producers, 
as they are called, offered me starring parts 
on the screen. I had seen some of the earlier 
photo-plays and, to say the very least, was not 
greatly impressed by them, so the offers ieil 
on deaf ears. 

41 But while I was busy before the footlights, 
a new era was beginning to make itself manifest 
i:i the photo-play— a fact of which I was suddenly 
made aware when I finished ' Prunella/ This 
was the -introduction into the motion-picture 
business of the best element among the theatrical 

" Mr. Frohman, who became the manager 
of the Famous Players' Film Company, pointed 
out to me that practically the only successful 
inginues on the motion-picture screen were 
those who had had no stage training, and who 
had become popular through their deeds of 
daring in the first crude * movies.' He said 
he believed the field of opportunity for one with 
thorough stage training to be unlimited, and 
strongly advised me to try at least one production 
under the Management of the Famous Players. 

" Many of my friends urged me against such 
a step on the ground that it would be undignified 
for me to become a photo-player, but against 
that claim there stood the irrevocable fact that 
Sarah Bernhardt, James K. Hackett, Mrs. 
Fiske, and a number of the stage's greatest 
stars had already been successfully presented 
on the screen by this same company. The die 
was cast when I received the script of my pro- 
posed first moving-picture play—' Wildflower.' 
As I read it, I found myself unconsciously 
enacting the scenes, and concluded that if the 
story was as good as that I could make no mistake 
in playing it under the management of the 
Famous Players. 

" Even after * Wildflower ' had been pro- 
nounced a success, I still had the mental attitude 
of an excursionist in the field of the cinema — a 
feeling that has been gradually dissipated through 
my subsequent appearances in * The Prince 
and the F^uiper/ ' Mice and Men,' and some 
other photo-plays, until now I love the work 
and take the same great interest in it that I 
felt for the stage. I do not know when I have 
enjoyed anything more than acting in ' Snow 
►Vhite ' and ' Miss George Washington.' There 
*as a time when I thought seriously of returning 
3 the stage, but now such a prospect does not 
\terest me so much as the selection of my 
*ext photo-play." 

The war was directly responsible 
rbeda Bara. for Theda Bara — the most famous 

of all movie " vampires " — enter- 

ig the "silent drama. " Until 1914," she writes, 

I had no thought of ever leaving the French 

Digitized by LiOOglC 

stage for moving pictures. 1 was then a member 
of the Grand Guignol Company in Paris, and 
had often appeared at the Gymnase and the 
Theatre Antoine. William Fox had heard of 
me in some way, and early in 19 14 he offered me 
a contract. When the big European struggle 
began to tear the Continent, I realized that the 
stage in France must inevitably suffer neglect. 
I wanted to continue acting and was anxious 
to appear in at least one film. So I went to 
.America, and in my first moving-picture drama 
I was given the part of a professional sorceress, 
and it is in similar roles that I have gained 
recognition. I was a success, I ' registered ' 
correctly, and now I suppose I shall continue 
in the 4 movies ' until I or the public get tired 
of my work, which I hope will not be for some 
considerable time. 

" I have been" in hundreds of thousands of 
feet of film, and it is with all my productions 
in mind that I issue a warning to screen-struck 
girls. If the average girl only knew of the 
sacrifices necessary to attain success in motion 
pictures she would consider carefully berore 
selecting screen acting as her life's work. The 
demands made on the time of the motion- 
picture actress are greater than those made on 
the time of the woman engaged in the pursuit 
of any other art. The average girl, according 
to my opinion — founded on the scores of letters 
I receive each day — believes that acting before 
the camera requires merely ability to reveal 
her own personality. I myself find that success 
on the screen requires constant study. If a 
girl really feels that she has histrionic talent 
of a high order and she is willing to labour 
indefatigably, it may be well enough for her to 
enter the silent drama, but not otherwise. 

" The characters I usually portray are not 
those which secure the love of the public. I 
have been called a ' Love Pirate,' the ' Ish- 
maelite of Feminity,' a vampire, the woman 
with the most beautifully wicked face in the 
world, and many other pleasant things. Vam- 
piring, such as I do, is the hardest kind of work. 
I am imbued with the character and lose myself 
in it. Complete exhaustion follows my day of 
work. When my name was first displayed 
on the billboards, the public did not know who 
or what was being advertised. Now, when 
they see my name, they invariably say : ' The 
human vampire. 1 

"It is not pleasant to be described so. I 
can assure everyone of that. When I fir^t 
heard myself referred to as ' that vampire 
woman/ I was heartbroken. I went to my 
apartment and was in tears the greater part 
of the night. People asked what manner of 
woman I could be who portrayed in such life- 
like manner the sirens of the drama. One 
woman wrote this description of me : — 

" ' Her hair is like the serpent locks of Medusa, 
her eyes have the cruel cunning of Lucretia 
Borgia, till now believed to have been the 
wickedest woman in the world. Her mouth 
is the mouth of the sinister, scheming Delilah, 
and her hands are those of the blood-bathing 
Elizabeth Batbory, v/ho slaughtered young 



PktA* 1 


girls that she might bathe in their warm liie- 
blood and so retain her beauty. Can it be possi^ 
ble that Fate has re-inca mated in Theda Bara the 
souls of these monsters of medieval times ? 

Jt These are rather harsh things to say even 
about the ancient vampires, but hardly a day 
passes that the postman does not bring letters 
to me written on similar hues. Many of them 
attack me most unmercifully, Some intimate 
that no woman could represent such characters 
without having had the actual experience. 
They ask whether it is possible for a woman 
of normal disposition and temperament to 
picture such % r iHainous characters, I insist 
that she can. It all depends on getting yotirseli 
in accord with your subject," 

Anita Stewart — the Vitagraph/s 

Anna most popular " star pp — says it 

Stewart. seems as though she had always 

been working before the camera. 

" Yet it is but four years ago/' she writes, " that 

1 was a novice— just beginning my study of 

the thousand-andone details which must be 

perfected before one's success is assured in 

motion pictures, 

M My family Jived but a few stations from the 
Vitagraph studios, on the outskirts of Brooklyn, 
and every day as I would ride past them in the 
train with my hair down my back, and school* 
books under my arm; on my way to Erasmus 
Hall High School, I had dreams of some day 
becoming a great star ! Alt girls have such 
dreams at some time in their lives. I suppose, 
I was fortunate enough to get my opportunity, 
however, and I set to work to take advantage 
of it before it slipped from my grasp* 





" After I had played one or two small rffri 
the directors began 'phoning for me when they 
had an extra part. In this way I was sooa 
working every day, and finally I gave up school 
to devote all my time and efforts to camera 

'The first months were hard, very hard: 
but then I realized that everything worth while 
was hard to attain, and so I worked and studied 
the plays which came into my possession. Even 
though I enly had a scene or two I would read 
through the star's rdle and do my best to act 
it before the mirror in my bedroom, 

" At first only the roles of maids, society girls 
in ballroom scenes, stenographers and sales* 
girls, who were little more_than parts of the 
scenery-, came to me. Perhaps many times 
you have seen me with a black dress, white 
cap and apron, and never given me any more 
notice than you do the girls playing maid rotes 
to-day. But I gave those roles thought. Eveu 
if I only had to enter a room and button the 
leading lady's dress, I did my best to do it in